


Touch My Mind I thru III

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-15
Updated: 2002-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Just like the title says. [g]





	Touch My Mind I thru III

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Touch My Mind by Jami Wilsen

TITLE: Touch My Mind  
DATE: December 23rd, 2001  
FEEDBACK:   
ARCHIVE: RatB, DitB, XF XMasfic  
DISCLAIMER: I hereby disavow any personal responsibility or liability with reference to the various episodes in Season 8, particularly the episodes containing the demise of certain characters; as the sole responsibility and liability for aforesaid episodes and Season 8 in the series called 'The X-Files' lies purely with their creators, owners and writers. Thusly, I the creator and borrower, heretofore referred to as 'slash writer', do not accept any personal liability or responsibility or wrong-doing in using the characters and canon from the series, the X-Files, in the non-profit endeavor of writing the aforementioned 'slash', as the owners of the X-Files have already proven their inability to properly manifest any resolution of the 'slash' element in their series... blah, blah, and so on, etcetera, and HO HO HO... Merry Christmas, everyone! I have a question: Does Chris miss the old M/K equation? I'll bet he does, oh yes sirree!! But not as much as I do. Hence my blatant and unwarranted thievery of his characters, with no intention of returning them. Ever. Get over it, Chris. They aren't yours anymore. You forfeited them. Ours by default now. HO HO HO!  
PAIRING: M/K  
RATING: NC-17 for m/m sex and language  
WEBSITE: http://www.saradadevi.com/jami/slash.htm, and the Xmasfic Archive-- http://www.saradadevi.com/jami/xfiles/xmas1.htm  
SPOILERS: Certainly for Requiem and most of the series. Post-Dead/Alive: and guess what, I'm living in denial about Essence/Existence here, so you will have to live in denial WITH me and scrap any canon that existed after the events in Dead/Alive. CC went so AU, I just have to ignore him. But Don't Panic. I'll take good care of you--and the boys, too. [g]  
SUMMARY: Mulder retreats to Nova Scotia in an attempt to repair the shattered remnants of his psyche, following his abduction, resurrection and his departure from the FBI. Krycek offers his assistance.  
NOTE: This is h/c (holiday/comfort) fic. Lyrics are from 'Trouble In Shangri La, by Stevie Nicks. Quotation: anon.

* * *

Touch My Mind  
by Jami Wilsen

"And he whispered to me in the darkness as we lay together...  
"Tell me where to touch you so that I can drive you insane.  
Tell me where to touch you to give you the ultimate pleasure.  
Tell me where to touch you so that we will truly own eachother."  
And I kissed him softly and whispered back, "Touch my mind."  
(author unknown)

I remember him, he was very young  
No one spoke like him, he was someone  
And I carried on, like I couldn't stop  
All of it for us baby  
And you, you got in my way  
Stood between me and my friends  
It was my sin, it was my shame  
You were unconscious to the pain I was in  
I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La  
I run through the grass  
I run over the stones  
Down to the sea  
Show me the way back, honey

Mulder stood at the water's edge, staring at the shiny surfaces of the wet rocks that lined the beach at his feet. He pulled his coat tighter against the bitter wind blowing in off the Bay of Fundy. Scully had declared that he was crazy to travel up to Nova Scotia at this time of year. He was beginning to think she was right; December was the wrong month to choose to enjoy this locale. Still, it was everything he'd wanted: solitary, quiet, unencumbered by any reminders of his life and blessedly devoid of conversational platitudes.

The light of the rising sun was sharp and brilliant, a diamond with plenty of silver lining. He found that, despite the maritime winter weather, he was looking forward to the coming day. It had been far too long since he'd arisen in the morning and actually anticipated simply experiencing life.

Small fishing boats were already making their way out on the bay, attracting swooping gulls whose cries echoed over the water. A high cliff wall rose up steeply to the right, providing a refuge for the puffins, terns and other birds that used it as a way station along one of their primary migration routes up and down the Atlantic coast.

The freezing sea breeze whipped at the sand and tough salt grasses near him, cutting straight through his pants and gradually numbing his legs. His knees were starting to ache but he remained where he was, unwilling to leave until the sun had broken through the distant line of dissipating fog on the horizon that obscured the opposite coast of New Brunswick.

The sharp tang of the sea combined with the scent of the pine trees that the cottage behind him nestled in. It was an idyllic setting, an excellent counterpoint and haven from the commotion and distraction in the wake of his departure from the FBI, dealing with his new son, Scully's baby, and his life there.

Scully had made it clear that the baby was hers, her long-wished-for child, and although she was completely content with Mulder's presence in their lives, she couldn't handle living with Mulder as her husband day-in and day-out, as a permanent fixture in her home. He'd offered to be there for her, in all capacities, but Scully had professed a deep-seated awkwardness with the idea.

The problem was, she explained, he needed them more than she and the baby needed him. His sense of obligation and duty towards them was borne from his insecurity and need for a family. It was understandable; he'd not had anyone else but her throughout it all.

He'd said she was his rock, his lighthouse. She had been his only friend and partner and... even occasional lover, throughout the long years they'd both spent fighting the giant unseen shadows behind the scenes; shadows that had claimed the lives of many of their family and friends. But yet again, Scully showed more practical sense than he and pointed out that they couldn't exactly tolerate each other's personal habits and life-style, their individual pursuits, and that he wasn't exactly suited for bringing up children. He'd had to agree.

Feeling secretly relieved, Mulder had retreated and returned home, settling down to try to make some sense of what he'd recently been through, and trying not to feel the sting of her rejection. But his apartment had very quickly taken on frighteningly mundane dimensions. He'd spent so many years there, yet it didn't seem like home anymore. In fact, it had never felt like home; it had always been his base of operations more than anything else. Home equaled family and he had no family left. He wanted to believe in the phrase 'home is where the heart is', but he had no heart to call home.

He was empty. He had nothing left.

His hope of eventually salvaging a family with Dana and their son was overshadowed by the fact that she was right: neither of them were suited to provide each other with anything but a sort of awkward comfort and it wasn't what they truly wanted. They simply couldn't provide each other with what the other needed or wanted.

Part of him felt hurt by her rejection but another part was glad, because he knew how she had gone through a cycle of first developing a crush on him (which of course was a mutual attraction), then a sisterly supportive presence, followed by a period of estrangement and joint sexual frustration followed finally by a cool, calm understanding that their partnership was stronger than any fleeting romantic notions that she might have had, or that he might think that she still retained. Of course, it might still be a purely self-defensive argument on her part, for he knew instinctively that she still loved him.

He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was alive and had a new, unexpected, unlooked-for lease on life. After all, he'd had been diagnosed with brain cancer. Not wanting to subject Scully and the other people in his life to the long and eventual disintegration of his existence, he'd kept it quiet. But he'd resigned himself to eventually dying, even to the point of ordering a tombstone. The growth of the tumor had been unpredictable and the doctors had not really been able to give him a clear time frame he could count on.

It had been with a sense of finality and liberation that he had stepped into the circle of light, joining the other abductees in the forest clearing in Oregon. After all, he'd been searching for the truth his whole life; it made a strangely fitting epitaph for him to take that particular journey. And he'd done so with a clear conscience, for he knew whatever the cost to himself and his friends, he was dying anyway. Cats leave their owners to die, many times seeking a private place to pass away. Mulder wondered if it were intentional on the pets' parts, to not subject their beloved owners to the experience of having to witness their death.

The nightmares he suffered from now were truly terrible. He rarely got a full night's sleep anymore. Vivid and horrifying, reliving the few moments of slurred and regained consciousness aboard the alien bounty hunters' craft, the nightmares continued until he desperately set himself a new sleeping pattern. Light naps, with stops and starts. Dozing, really.

He could no longer count how many times his memory had been wiped, or identify the false memories that had been inserted, compare them to the real ones, or even if any of the memories he COULD access in dreams and regressive therapy were real and not illusory figments his own subconscious was coughing up.

Every so often he'd sit up with a start, feeling as though he'd been hit by a strong jolt of electricity, particularly in bed when he was just drifting off to sleep. Not only that, he was starting to question his sanity. He'd never done that before. But objects kept disappearing, objects that he needed, like his wallet, keys and driver's license.

Strangely, they would re-appear a few hours later in a place he KNEW he hadn't been in that time. Gremlins, elves, aliens and ghosts suggested themselves in the privacy of his mind, but an even quieter and damning voice in the back of his mind kept whispering about lost marbles. He had no explanation however, and knew that it wasn't madness.

He'd had a full psych-evaluation prior to retreating here, as well as continued monitoring of his physical health since he was discharged from the Naval Hospital. He was normal, disgustingly healthy and fit, both physically and mentally.

In a way, enforced retirement from the FBI was almost a punishment. Especially when he thought of Scully, with the baby, returning to active duty from her maternity leave. And Agents Doggett and Reyes--they were fine, but only Reyes seemed at least partially open-minded to entertaining metaphysical solutions to physical phenomena they couldn't explain, let alone how to apply them to properly ascertain the answers.

Mulder was actually glad he was far from the X-Files now, so that he couldn't get upset at what he would undoubtedly perceive as gross ignorance in the face of what was arguably HIS field: the investigation of the paranormal.

He almost laughed: Reyes would love it here, with the whale-watching and local ghost stories. It was the summer feeding ground for over a hundred humpback whales.

There was too much pain and death behind him to relax. Even coming to this quiet place hadn't helped; if anything, it had brought it out in greater strength. Faces of people he'd killed while in the Bureau haunted him in his waking hours, as well as the impressions of people and places he'd seen. Now that the pressure was off, the lid on his box was coming right off, too.

All the horror, all the fear and the dread, the doubts, the emotional pain and loss he'd suffered over the years were surging to the fore. A rational part of his mind suggested that it was simply a natural process of releasing suppressed trauma. He'd been fine for so long, taking things in his stride that not very many other people could have handled. He'd assumed that it meant it hadn't touched him. More and more, he suspected, the boundaries between his physical reality and the Other Side were crumbling. He was falling apart from the inside out, a bizarrely paradoxical breakdown--of his inner structure, rather than his own self... the walls in his mind, not the core of his being.

He had got to the point where, when Dana had finally given birth, he couldn't bear to see his 'son'...

The child was so obviously a product like himself, a genetic curiosity that would garner attention from high and low. If they didn't force an awkward importance onto little William, no doubt the baby would bring it on himself with his achievements once he grew old enough to begin displaying what he was capable of.

Mulder felt strangely distant towards William. The baby WAS more Scully's than his. He didn't envy either the child or Scully, although his long-suffering partner had wanted this baby more than her life was worth. She'd risked so much and suffered for so long...

It tore at Mulder's heart to have to witness it. It was so beautiful right now, in the beginning. All beginnings ARE beautiful... The sheer potential of little William's life... But the inevitability of his own understanding of the long-term outcomes cast a shadow on his ability to feel happy for them. He could see too much in the future.

In running away from it all though, he faced his own end. He could see it looming like a dank, mediocre specter: a tedious collection of hours spent dreaming about the solutions to puzzles that he'd never solved, trying to resolve the night-terrors and the holes in his conscience. He was not old, not yet. He still had many years left of his natural life, the one he'd been handed in an extraordinary circumstance following his abduction, but he felt as though the accumulation of experiences he'd undergone in the last forty years had taken their toll.

He felt very old indeed. And worst of all, he could see the endless boredom and lack of direction in his now aimless life awaiting him. He no longer had the fire that had always driven him to continue. In a way, it was far worse than his dry spell he'd experienced that had culminated during Scully's second abduction on the bridge and Cassandra Spender's disappearance.

This was different in that he was inviting it; he wanted to fall apart. He wanted the edifice he'd kept strong for so long to crumble to make way for a new structure, a new approach to life. Hell, he'd DIED... And come back from the dead after being abducted by aliens--hardly orthodox life-experience from any point of view. He had come full-circle and was now left holding the remnants of any enduring strength or understanding in his resurrected hands.

Mulder wondered if perhaps the sum of his life's pursuits had resulted in bringing him to this point, having to face a truth about himself that he'd always projected onto the mysterious, the supernatural, the unexplainable, in an attempt to validate his own existence and not have to take the responsibility for his own state. It was a painful thought, but very hard to deny in the absence of anything to distract him from it. Between the open sea, the cold sky and the empty shoreline, the only thing that remained to hold his attention was the sun, ever brighter now that it had lifted above the rapidly clearing fog on the horizon.

All too soon, the brilliance of the rising sun faded into the pale light of an ordinary day. The clouds began to obscure the disk, creating a shiny coin in the sky.

It felt like rain was approaching. He could feel it in the air, the sense of an impending storm. Yet a peculiar hope colored his perceptions inside and out, the feeling of 'something' that the day might still bring. He sighed and surrendered to the bitter cold of the wind, allowing the winter sea breeze to force him back up the beach and return to the warmth and security of the cottage.

He liked the different lifestyle, the change of pace, that living here afforded him. It was a wonderful opportunity to do the quiet things he'd always wanted to but had never had the chance. Catch up on his reading, his thinking... catch up on a lot of things.

As he made coffee, he busied himself by clearing the kitchen of what scant dishes had accumulated there and noticed that the fridge was getting low in food. Mulder was fully aware that staying inside the cottage--whatever the weather--wasn't exactly conducive to healing, or taking advantage of a balanced retreat. He needed to venture out occasionally. This was a perfect opportunity to prove to himself that he could still function in spite of his self-imposed breakdown.

He drove along the quiet road to town. The embankments were lined with snow and the asphalt surface was black and dry. The comforting neutrality of the landscape sustained him, enabling his mind to hold onto the reality of where he was as the contrasting black and white flashed by. No blur of city surroundings, no distractions, a tidiness that grounded him, providing a stability lacking in his inner state.

In way, he mused, the black road was his life, the white piles of snow on the wayside were the uncharted terrain he'd never stopped to investigate, the detours he'd never taken in his single-minded pursuit of the 'truth'. He suspected that his own inner truth finally lay in all those places that he'd never taken the time to see, the roses he'd never had the time to stop and smell along the way.

It was Christmas Eve and the roads were curiously empty of traffic. He hadn't attempted to make any friends and by the time he'd turned onto the main highway from Kentville to Digby, he was resolved to spending the next two days doing anything but moping over the fact that he was destined to spend Christmas alone.

*

With honor be it spoken  
To understand this light that we carry  
And let it light your way  
Of course, you know, I generally take it  
Well I make accommodations for you  
And consider this  
You used to be my love  
I make excuses for you

Alex sat alone at the table, his coffee cooling and the danish sitting uneaten on the plate. The bustling breakfast crowd of the other hotel guests went unheard as he stared out the window at the harbor. The clouds were thick and soft metallic-blue, as if in a watercolor painting. They gave the overcast sky a colorful character. He could see the squall line out to sea, far away in the distance. It wouldn't be long before it drenched them all with driving rain and wind. Even now, a few drops of rain splashed on the windowpane.

He'd driven all the previous day to reach Bar Harbor, Maine, to take the ferry to the peninsula of Nova Scotia. He disembarked from the ferry at Yarmouth, then drove to Digby, checking into the inn late last night. He'd been surprised at the homey comfort of the seaside hotel. The establishment was obviously situated in a tourist trap but so far they were all that their brochures claimed.

There was a strange sense of familiarity and nostalgia about this place, almost as if he felt he had been acquainted with this town for some time, or that he should know it from somewhere. Despite the tourism factor and the smell of fish emanating from the wharf that all the local residents didn't appear to notice, there was a cheerfully laid-back atmosphere here. And there was a noticeable cultural flavor that was highly individual. Called by many the 'Enchanted Land', Nova Scotia had personality. He could even see why they'd named it 'New Scotland'... It had that same maritime, pristine beauty, a timeless ambience with coastal scenery.

In spite of the evidence of recent heavy snowfall over the past week or so, Alex found himself hankering to drive around the peninsula and explore, although the ferry crossing the night before had been very rough and he suspected it would be another day or two before he wanted to do any intensive traveling. And besides, he had a mission to see through first.

Fox Mulder.

Mulder had come up here a few weeks before, after spending several months commuting back and forth between his parents' houses at Greenwich and Martha's Vineyard. Alex had suspected it was because Mulder was tying up all of his loose ends and preparing to disappear. He'd been right. He was glad he'd been monitoring Scully's phone line, else he might have had a much harder time discovering where Mulder had hared off to. And Mulder hadn't even called Scully since he arrived here, apart to let her know that he'd made it okay.

Mulder was staying in a vacationer's cottage twenty-five miles east, along the coast. It was a bit out of the way, but Alex could see now that Mulder had chosen this place to hide in. He was almost envious that Mulder had found it first. He could see himself settling down here for good, endless days spent watching the boats and relearning how to enjoy the simple things in life: surf, waves, lights on the water and maybe even the cold of the Atlantic winter.

He rubbed absently at the remnant of his left arm, above the prosthetic. He'd long since obtained a high quality replacement model but it didn't help him to keep the stump from suffering the effects of cold and damp weather. The cold was getting to him even in the breakfast room that was warmed by the quaint fireplace. He picked up his coffee and drank, and sampled the danish. He was gratified to find that it really was as good as it appeared.

Alex ended up ordering the full breakfast. By the time he'd finished it, he was convinced that the hotel's food was some of the finest he'd ever eaten. Maybe it was just the sea air that gave him back his appetite. But he suspected it was actually anticipation that was even now buoying his spirits.

However it went, he was going to see Mulder. Alex hadn't seen him since the man's body had been exhumed and taken to the Naval Base at Annapolis, Maryland, and in fact hadn't even had a chance to talk to him after he revived. The excitement he felt was of course tamed by the knowledge that Mulder would probably lunge at him on sight, stammering imprecations and oaths, barely comprehensible in his rage, fists flying. He hoped not. He really didn't want a scene. Then again, maybe Mulder had changed and cooled down since his... death.

Alex shivered. It had been a close call, far too close for comfort. He'd only just managed to inject the vaccine into Mulder's infected body before Skinner had come down the hall and entered the hospital room. And he'd lost Billy Miles entirely; the alien virus had transformed the deputy's body before Alex had the chance to inject it into him as well. He'd regretted wasting that vial of the vaccine just to make a point, but Doggett had pissed him off royally.

Out of the window, Alex noticed that the roiling, swollen clouds had darkened and the line of the falling rain had nearly reached the wharf. How apt, he suddenly thought, that his meeting with Mulder after all this time would be shadowed... by a rainstorm.

He sighed and finished his second cup of coffee. Well, there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. He left a generous tip at the table and departed from the inn.

As he pulled his car away from the inn, conspicuously black amongst the more cheerfully colored cars in the parking lot, he saw that the rain-clouds wouldn't last long. Unfortunately, the view out over the bay showed evidence of a sibling squall moving in behind them. He didn't envy the trawlers braving the rugged seas out there just now.

When he reached Digby he drove into the center of the town, cruising down the street, slowly looking for a parking space downtown. He needed to pick up a few supplies. The streets weren't as crowded as he would have expected on Christmas Eve. The streetlights and shops were all decorated gaily with clusters of tinsel and lights, setting the streets aglow with holiday cheer. He felt a sudden sense of melancholy descend upon him. He still wasn't sure exactly where Mulder WAS, or which cottage he was staying in.

Mulder had been careful not to actually say it aloud to Scully over the phone; Alex could tell, from monitoring her calls. Probably didn't want to run the risk of having Scully come up, Krycek thought with a chuckle. In fact, that was just the handle he needed, he realized. Mulder had come up here to hide and would probably swallow a tale spun around Scully's concern...

He grinned to himself, thinking of Mulder's dismay when he told him that Scully was looking for him.

He was startled to see Mulder walking along the sidewalk up ahead. His heart jumped up into his throat. He stared after him, until Mulder disappeared into a grocery store.

Holy shit. Was it, actually -? But it had been. It WAS Mulder. He'd recognize the man anywhere.

It wasn't really serendipitous, as he had expected to be coming across Mulder later on anyway, but it still struck him as fortuitous to see his quarry here in town rather than having to track him down along the coast. That might have taken days.

He quickly parked a few cars away and doubled back, waiting a few furtive moments outside the store before following Mulder inside.

  
I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La  
I run through the grass  
I run over the stones  
Down to the sea  
Show me the way back, honey

Mulder had just collected up all his grocery bags and turned to leave, when he nearly ran into someone standing between him and the door. A tall someone in... black boots... with black jeans... his eyes traveled up to take in the black jacket... the black gloves and a smirk, accompanied by a pair of twinkling eyes in a familiar face that never failed to irk him.

Mulder's stomach twisted and he could feel his heart sink as Krycek looked back at him, matching his stare. Krycek didn't move out of the way.

In a dangerously calm tone, Mulder asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Krycek smiled grimly. "Scully sent me." He surveyed the store, watching the people around them.

Mulder felt like someone had hit him in the midriff. "S-scully sent you?" he squeaked, dismay overcoming him, followed quickly by disbelief. He cleared his throat. "Why would she do that? I mean..."

Krycek snorted. "Apparently, you worried her. I went by your place, just to drop in and check out how things were going. I found your apartment rented out to someone else and so I swung over to Scully's. It was strange, actually," Krycek admitted. "Instead of going for her gun or her cellphone, she let me inside and picked up the baby. Then she started on this whole song and dance about how you'd run off to the ends of the earth in the middle of winter. She kept bleating the same thing, that you were unhinged, and you needed someone to make sure you were okay."

Mulder sighed heavily. "I TOLD her, I explained it to her, that I needed some space--and some time." He stepped around Krycek and deliberately did not wait for him to catch up with him. He left the store, walked to the car and put the groceries in the back seat. He turned to see Krycek had followed him out.

"Jesus, Mulder. You look like hell. I'm getting seriously worried here, myself. Are you sleeping, nights?"

"You don't look so good yourself, Krycek. You look gaunt, haggard... I'd say you haven't been eating well. Hey, I have an idea. There's the grocery store - why don't you go back into it and give me a chance to slip away here?" He turned away with another sigh of resignation.

Krycek regarded him curiously. "Have you called her even once since you got here?"

"I--yeah, the night I arrived. Look, Krycek, I'm sorry but I really don't think it's any concern of yours."

"It is now. Scully made me promise that if I was passing through the area, I'd check up on you."

Mulder rubbed his temples with his free hand. He shifted agitatedly from one foot to the other on the sidewalk. "I don't need a sitter. I'm fine. I came here to get away from everything familiar and --screw this, I don't need to explain myself to YOU. In fact, if anyone ought to be able to understand, it should be you, Krycek. For God's sake, can't I just live here for a little while without everyone acting as though I'm coming unglued? I am just fine, I don't need any help and I want to be left alone. Go home. Enjoy your Christmas."

He walked away from Krycek, up the street towards the drugstore, leaving him standing on the sidewalk.

Unfortunately, Krycek caught up with him, matching his stride. "Don't tell me you came all the way out here just to sulk? That's pathetic."

"I'm so sorry I've disappointed you. Maybe I wasn't clear a moment ago. Leave. Me. Alone."

"No can do, Fox. See, I'm not at all convinced that you ARE all right. I'd hate to report that back to Dana. She might come flying up here, swaddling clothes and all, just to check on your psychological state. Imagine what she'd do if she found you whining and pouting about life, the universe and everything instead of enjoying your impromptu vacation in this... this... brisk wintry clime. She'd commit you. Again."

"No, she'd shoot me, again, to put me out of my misery. Come to think of it, why haven't YOU shot me yet, Krycek?"

Krycek nearly stumbled. "What? Why the hell would you think that I would-"

Mulder stopped and turned to regard him. "Yeah. Why haven't you? That's a damn good question. An even better one is: why haven't I shot you yet? Level with me. What the FUCK do you want? Why are you really here? And don't give me any more crap about Scully sending you; I don't buy it." Mulder delivered all of this in his usual monotone. He didn't want to attract undue attention from the residents of Digby.

Krycek grinned at him. "That took you long enough. Come on, admit it; I had you going for bit, there. And as for putting you out of your misery, well--I don't know about the FBI, but where I come from we don't usually shoot workhorses after they get too long in the tooth. No, in the Motherland, we let them run away to a nice little retirement cottage out in the middle of the freezing wastelands and languish in fits of dramatic sulking until they die of boredom. That's what you're doing here, isn't it?"

"Krycek... Go to hell."

"I knew it. You're sulking." Krycek snapped his fingers and grinned as he said this.

Mournfully, Mulder said, "Why the hell are you bothering me? Go pester Skinner; that's your favorite pastime, isn't it?"

"He doesn't react the same way you do, Mulder. I can always get a rise out of him, but he hasn't quite got the left hook that you have."

Mulder continued on down the street, feeling the irritation in him at Krycek's presence rise to new heights. He congratulated himself for not turning on the smug son of a bitch right there in the middle of the street and pounding him into the concrete. While they were both aware he wouldn't KILL the man, Mulder still wondered at his newfound patience. "If I want to disappear out here for a while, what business is it of yours?"

"You tell me. You always have so much fun telling me who and what I am, and coming up with such interesting theories as to what I'm doing, why should I deprive you of having a good time? Besides, if I told you, I'd have to shoot you after all."

Mulder groaned. "You can dispense with the cloak and dagger. Who are you working for, now?"

Krycek gave him a sidelong glance as they stopped before the drugstore. He looked down at the sidewalk and then away, looking up the street. "I'm not working for anyone. I'm... out of a job, actually."

Mulder's brows rose. "No kidding? What a coincidence. So am I. And we both happen to be up here on the edge of Canada, just before Christmas. I take it you haven't got anything better to do than stalk me?"

Krycek shrugged and gave him a noncommittal look. "Not really."

"Get a life, Krycek," Mulder said, and left him standing outside the store.

Once inside, Mulder surreptitiously peered from the corner of his eye as he made his way around the shop. Krycek was waiting outside by the door, obviously intending to rejoin him when he left to return to his car.

Damn him.

As he perused the shelves for toothpaste and Tylenol, his eyes came to rest on the condoms. He found himself staring at them. He tore himself away with a jerk. What the hell am I THINKING, he thought to himself as he went to the check-out counter. Jesus. No. No way. It wasn't going to happen. No. Fucking. Way.

Still, the knowledge that Krycek had followed him all the way up here, just to check on his state of mind... it was rather interesting, to say the least. He didn't think Krycek had any idea just how much that gave away about his motives, whether they were conscious or not.

He took a breath and tried to ignore the fact that the man who apparently found it impossible to leave him alone was still standing outside, hunched in his coat and stamping his feet to keep warm. Taking out his credit card, he handed it to the sales clerk with a slight frown. As she rang up the total, he couldn't help wondering if Krycek had located him via a paper trail, or even electronically, via his credit card usage. Damn. He should have brought more cash, but the whole business of having to convert US dollars to Canadian had seemed unnecessary with the credit cards, so he hadn't converted that much. Just enough to tide him over through the holidays. He had wondered if he should move off to some other location after the New Year came in. Now he was convinced it was going to be a necessity. He sighed to himself. He'd hoped he wouldn't have to. He liked it here.

As Mulder walked out, letting the door swing shut behind him, he deliberately ignored Krycek, who once more fell into step beside him.

Huge fat raindrops began to pelt them, looking and feeling suspiciously akin to sleet. Mulder didn't speak. Sure enough, Krycek cracked first.

"Mulder, is it really so hard to believe that people might be concerned about you?"

"People? No. But you? Yes, I do find that hard to believe, considering all the shit you've put me through over the years."

Krycek was silent beside him as they continued on down the sidewalk, passing women carrying shopping bags and children wearing hats and mittens.

Then Krycek replied, "Maybe my memory isn't what it used to be but you know something?" He gave a short, insincere laugh, "In all honesty, I can't think of anything I've done to you... or FOR you... over the past few years that hasn't been in your interest somehow."

"Honesty," Mulder repeated, dryly. "Now there's a word that sounds truly foreign, coming from you." They came to stand beside his car and he turned to Krycek. "Well, this is my stop. See you around, maybe." He looked up and down the street. "It's not that busy--if you run, you might get back to your own car in time to catch up and follow me back home."

"Mulder," Krycek said tiredly, "Why can't you ever give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"We both know what you've done and what you're capable of," Mulder replied, just as tiredly. "You might want to reconsider tailing me, too. You're safer in a public place out in the open here. Imagine what I could do if I had you all to myself."

"Yeah, imagine," Krycek sighed. "Look, Mulder, all I want is to talk; that's all. I just want to talk. Surely that's not too terrifying a prospect for you to handle."

"About what? Krycek, there's nothing to talk about."

Krycek gave him a knowing look. "How are you sleeping at night? Having any fun dreams? If I were you, I know I'd be suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. What harm could it possibly do you to indulge me, here? All I want is to talk, I swear. Nothing more."

Against his own better judgment, Mulder considered it. Then he considered the open, innocent-seeming face that Krycek wore, staring back at him through those lashes that always looked too thick and long for Mulder's comfort. They fringed Krycek's eyes, making him look oh-so-sweet... Finally, he answered, "All right, but I'm warning you: I'm not up to playing any of your games. And if this has anything to do with the Resistance or the alien virus, I don't want to hear it."

"No aliens, no viruses--no games, I promise. You have my word."

"Oh, joy. I have your word," Mulder muttered. He went around to the driver's side of the car and said, "Try to keep up." He climbed into the car and started the ignition, pulling away from the curb far faster than he probably should have, attracting stares from others along the street.

Once he was back out on the highway, he kept checking the rear-view mirror and at first, he thought maybe he'd given Krycek the slip, but then he saw the black dot that began gaining on him despite the weather and the road conditions. The sleet was coming down harder now, too, which also caused him to lose what headway he'd made.

As he drove, he tried to concentrate on the road but his thoughts kept going back to what possible agenda Krycek might have for wanting to talk to him. He could hardly trust him, and he certainly didn't believe the bullshit story Krycek had fed him about having joined the ranks of the unemployed. Krycek hadn't held down a legal job since he'd left the FBI. The only thought that reassured him was that no matter what Krycek was after, he wasn't in a position to be able to do anything about it. Krycek couldn't get him to run off on some wild new lead, nor did he have the resources of the FBI at his fingertips anymore, to go investigating the latest alien menace or crashed disk.

By the time he pulled into the driveway that led through the trees to the cottage where he was staying, Mulder's curiosity was engaged. What exactly did Krycek want? What possible benefit could Krycek find in bothering him yet again? And on Christmas Eve, no less? And just how the HELL had Krycek found him? He'd been so careful not to leave a trail, even to the point of using an alias and alternative passport. Fox Mulder was still officially in the U.S. of A.

He parked the car and turned in time to see Krycek's car come to a halt not far away, behind him along the driveway. As he watched, Krycek got out and came walking towards him, his boots crunching on the frozen gravel.

Mulder sighed and started gathering his groceries out of the back seat. Krycek came to stand beside him and asked, "Can I help?"

"Grab that. And that one there." Mulder shut the front door and waited until Krycek had removed the last two bags, then he locked the car. He walked up to the cottage, withdrew his keys and shifted the bags he was carrying to pause and open the cottage door.

Once inside, they both wiped their boots on the mat and Krycek silently followed him into the kitchen to deposit the bags on the wooden table.

As Mulder took off his coat and hung it up on a hook to dry, Krycek stood, looking around the place. Finally, he commented, "Nice place you found here, Mulder. Remote, out of the way... It would have taken me a while to find you."

"Speaking of which," Mulder countered, "How'd you find me?"

"I was monitoring your calls," Krycek replied, absently, rubbing his gloved hand through his damp hair, unintentionally making it spiky. "Is that real wood?" He nodded. "This is... it's really nice here."

"Don't get too attached to it," Mulder said. "What did you want to talk about?" He turned to put the food away, taking items out of the grocery bags.

"I came to offer my services."

Mulder stopped in surprise and looked back at him. "Okay, I'll bite. As what, my psychotherapist?"

"Why not? Can you think of anyone better to lend a sympathetic ear to all you've been through? And I won't think you're crazy if you start talking about aliens and UFOs, either. Think about it: we're the only two people in a nine hundred mile radius--at the very least--who actually share the same perspective. And the same experiences."

Mulder grimaced and returned to emptying the bags, putting food in cupboards and in the fridge. He stashed a frozen salmon steak in the freezer. "Somehow, I don't think that qualifies you as a therapist. And I have my doubts about you sharing my experiences--you weren't abducted, killed, buried and then dug up again."

"I was thinking more along the lines of friendship," Krycek admitted.

Mulder stood and straightened, looking back at Krycek, noting that the man's nose was no longer as red from the cold, his jacket wasn't dripping as much and his hair wasn't as spiky now that he was starting to dry out from being in the cottage's warmth.

"Krycek, you really don't want to be around me right now. I'm dealing with a lot of issues and I'm actually inviting a nervous breakdown. I'm trying to sort out a lot of trauma and stress and it might be detrimental to your own physical and emotional well-being to be hanging around here. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Krycek gave a shrug. "So? Do you think that there's anything you could tell me that would equal the shit I've been through?"

Mulder sighed. "Working with corpses, bodies, creatures... Creepy fucking monsters and deranged people... Mentally disturbed and possessed violent criminals and psychopaths. The scum of the earth--literally, as in slime and fungus, brain-eaters, practitioners of voodoo and Satanism, vampires, werewolves and demons. That enough for you?"

Krycek grinned. Then he said, "You never had your arm cut off; you weren't possessed by a Black fucking Oil creature and left to rot in a hole for weeks. You weren't-"

"Ah, yes. The sob story," Mulder commented. "I wondered when you'd start on that one. This is the part where I'm supposed to feel sorry for you, isn't it?"

Tightly, Krycek replied, "No. But it does give me a weird kind of handle on being able to relate with some of the stuff you've been through."

Mulder sighed and said, "Come on, let's go outside. Walk along the beach."

"It's going to rain again," Krycek pointed out.

"After all we've been through, you're worried about a little rain? Shame on you, Krycek." He picked up his trench coat and then put it back, selecting instead a slicker with a hood. No sense in getting wetter than necessary. He deliberately did not want Krycek feeling at home here. Might as well get him out into the cold to speed this process up.

Krycek didn't look happy at the thought of going back out into the cold wind and rain, but he followed Mulder out of the back door through the kitchen and outside, down to the beach. They picked their way carefully through the dunes and the slippery rocks, to walk along the shore.

Sandpipers were gathered along the beach, picking up crabs and shellfish that had found their way up onto the wet sands.

"So, why'd you pick this place?"

Mulder took a breath. "Well, to be honest, I did kind of... run away. I needed someplace out of the way, where I could fall apart in private. Put myself back together again in a new way that makes sense, taking into consideration the, uh, twilight zone factors. I can't say it's been easy. I keep wondering why I bothered. My head drove me here; it's my heart that's calling me back there again. It isn't like I wanted to desert Scully. Or the baby."

Krycek nodded. Then he said, with a grin, "Was that the big head or the little head, Mulder?"

Mulder shot him a disdainful look. "Very funny. Scully and I love each other, and besides, I don't see any beach-babes out here, do you? It may be a solitary wilderness but it's a beautiful place."

"You could do worse, I guess. It's a bit cold and wet. Still, you could get yourself a yacht, spend your time avoiding news about your son and trying not to cry over the fact that Dana Scully found you less than suitable father material." A gust of wind blasted at them momentarily, and Krycek shoved his gloved hand in his pocket, shivering. "Fuck, it's freezing out here, Mulder. And it's going to rain. Again," he added meaningfully, glancing back up at the cottage.

"Did you want something? Or did you just come here to discuss the weather, Krycek?"

"What are you doing for Christmas? No, let me guess: you packed a bottle of lube and the latest Playboy. So, I guess you won't really be alone--you'll have your Playmates to keep you company."

"You're a riot, Krycek. Still, it's better than what you'll be doing. With lube and a picture of me."

"I don't-"

"The pictures in your head. Yeah, I can see it now. You always did get off on me touching you. I could hit you a couple of times, just for old times' sake. Give you some material to take away with you--whadd'ya say?"

"And a very Merry Christmas to you too, Mulder. You're not right in the head. You're a neurotic egomaniac, you know that?"

"Sticks and stones, Alex. And you don't want to give me any ideas. We're surrounded by stones out here."

Krycek gave a weary sigh. "Mulder, don't you get tired of hating?"

"Not at all. I love to hate you." Mulder's voice was practically inflectionless.

"No problem. I hate to love you," Krycek rejoined, his tone just as flat, wondering at this point why the fuck he had even bothered to search out Mulder in the first place.

Mulder stared at him, and a fierce, cold smile gradually grew on his face as he nodded, "I thought so."

Krycek flushed as he realized what he'd said, and then frowned darkly. "You know, sitting out here in glorious self-pity isn't going to help. And neither is projecting all of your problems onto ME. You've been doing it for as long as I've known you. Haven't you ever stopped to ask yourself why that is?"

"I don't have to. I know why. You're a lying, murdering traitor and a coward. You stabbed me in the back, sold my partner down the river and killed my father. Shall we go through the list of other felonies? Crimes? Murders? Why bother; you know them just as well as I do."

"Jesus," Krycek swore, "You never stop, do you? You never stop to think. I didn't have much of a fucking choice, Mulder! They'd have killed me if I'd strayed from the Project--you KNOW that. Bill Mulder was about to blow the whole thing. He knew Cancerman would react. He was expecting someone to show up that night."

"Wait, did it go something like this? To pull the trigger, or not to pull the trigger: the Krycek dilemma. Oh well; hell, the old bastard got himself involved, he brought it on himself. Bang." Mulder stopped and looked back at him, accusing him with his eyes. "Was it anything like that?"

Krycek shut his eyes momentarily. He turned to regard the cresting waves that rolled dangerously close by on the rocky beach. The tide was up. "I had an obligation to get inside as deep and as far as I could without compromising myself, to prove my loyalty to them. I wasn't betraying you; I was proving myself to THEM. One false step and I was history. Why can't you understand that? I was with the KGB, for God's sake, a mole! If they had suspected at any point that I was straying, I wouldn't be here now. And then the fuckers tried to frame me, just because. Fucking Cancerman--Jesus, Mulder, you think YOU'VE had it rough. I'd like to see how well you fare after puking up Black Oiliens and being locked in a fucking silo for weeks on end."

"Whatever gave you the impression that I want to know? I don't CARE, Krycek. It's ancient history. And you aren't even sorry for the things you've done. You're standing here giving me justifications and excuses for your crimes. You're a real piece of work."

"Yeah, it's all my fault," Krycek sneered, bitterly. "Never mind that if it weren't for me, you'd be dead several times over, and all your friends and colleagues with you. Never mind that I managed to take down the bastards where no one else even came close. Never mind that I've had to take more shit than you can possibly imagine in your worst fucking nightmares, for years on end. Not to mention having my arm cut off. Need someone to do your dirty work for you? No problem; get Alex Krycek to do it. Jesus, Mulder--even when we were partners in the FBI, you weren't any different. Do this, and then, do that. Run and fetch, 'boy'. Not to mention the 'alien problem'. I've had to run around doing a fucking balancing act for years now, juggling Rebels and Resistance leaders with one hand and the goddamned Consortium on the other. And somehow, I've managed to cope. But that isn't enough for you, is it? No, I'm supposed to suffer eternal damnation and torment for my 'crimes'. Let's see, just how much more SHIT can we put on the pile?" Krycek exclaimed, angrily.

Mulder raised his voice, answering, "It's not my problem." He stopped walking again, and looked at Krycek. "That was quite an impressive little diatribe there, though. I have to hand it to you. That was almost convincing."

Krycek stared at him. "I meant what I said, Mulder. I know you're going through a rough time right now. I just -" He fell silent, pausing, obviously trying to regain his composure. "I thought maybe you might need help, is all. I wanted to offer a truce--friendship--for a little while. In the spirit of Christmas and all. Can't we put away the knives and the accusations for a few days, at least? A detente, between Russia and America. You and me."

Mulder regarded him steadily. "Alex, you aren't fooling anyone but yourself. I don't need you. You need me. Otherwise you wouldn't have followed me up here into the ass-end of nowhere just to make this extraordinary offer of 'friendship'. And after all the shit you've pulled, what makes you think I'd trust such an offer in the first place? I don't know you. I don't know you at all. And I don't WANT to know you. Why can't you understand that? Or is it too subtle a point for you to wrap your head around? That Fox Mulder, ex- Special Agent and investigator of the supernatural, seeker after truth, doesn't need you."

"Got it all figured out, haven't you? Yeah, you've really got my number, secret agent man," Krycek retorted. "Jesus, it's so fucking impossible for you to step down from your moral high horse, even for your own sake, that you'd rather suffer a nervous breakdown than accept an offer of help from me, unworthy scumbag that I am."

"You obviously weren't paying attention when I said that this was a deliberate act on my part. I WANT to have that breakdown. I came here to have one. I need it and I want it, so I can get past the things that are causing it in the first place. And you know something? It's a sign of maturity and health that I can actually handle this process. I suspect that you, on the other hand, are teetering on the rocky edge about to fall off into a very large pit that you'll never be able to crawl out of. The danger for you is far greater. Just think what might happen if you suddenly developed a conscience and moral center."

Krycek snorted, scornfully. "Yeah. My psyche is just all knotted up with guilt. Maybe a conversion to Catholicism would help. No doubt they'd sort me out. Maybe a hairshirt... Or, you can tell me, Mulder, some flogging? I'm sure you'd love to flog me. You'd be practically panting at the prospect."

"Whatever does it for you, Alex. Maybe religion can save you. I'm starting to wonder if there is anything left that would."

The wind was up and the rain was starting to fall again, this time in earnest. Krycek stared at him, intensely. "So you'd rather remain out here sulking in self-imposed exile, falling apart in there," he nodded in the direction of the cottage, "then accept my friendship and help?"

"Alex," Mulder stated, dryly, "at this point, I'd PAY you to leave me alone."

Krycek stopped and let out a frustrated breath. Then he turned to regard the sandpipers that were beginning to depart the beach under the new onslaught of rain. Slowly, quietly, he said, "Okay, Mulder. Have it your way. I guess there really isn't any point, since you so obviously believe that I'm the source of all your problems."

"Now who's feeling sorry for himself? You can't deny that every time anything goes haywire, you're there at the center of it, playing puppet-master and manipulating everyone. I've noticed that whenever the shit hits the fan, YOU show up. It's kind of hard to disassociate you from shit, after a while. And inevitably, you seem to think that all of it can be solved with a gun. The right bullet, in the right person, at the right time."

Krycek glowered. "I can count the number of people I've killed on just this one hand. What's your score, Mulder?"

"Killed, or murdered, Alex?" Mulder replied. "Maybe it's a moot point to you. But I seem to remember a dark night where I found you lurking outside my apartment building with the murder weapon that killed my father in your hand. Tell me how I'm supposed to pretend that doesn't make a difference?"

Krycek coldly replied, "No more difference, I guess, than if I told you that he was the one who put that gun in my hand."

Mulder paused as a sudden flash of misgiving went through him, then asked hesitantly, "What are you saying?"

"Bill Mulder placed himself in that position. If he'd told you anything about the Project, Cardinale would have killed YOU, Mulder. Come on, you know damn well that they always sent two men out on those kinds of jobs. Why do you think it was the same gun that Cardinale used to shoot Skinner?"

"You really don't want to bring up Skinner," Mulder warned him. "You killed him, made him suffer. I was there; I saw it with my own eyes. You blackmailed him, controlled him--you can't weasel your way out of that. The responsibility for that lies solely with you."

Sadly, Krycek replied, "I didn't have a CHOICE, Mulder. If I'd let him be, he'd have continued to make the wrong moves. He was on your side, he really was. But he didn't know who he was dealing with. And I saved his life, by injecting him with those nanobots. If I was controlling him, no one else COULD. He'd made himself a major target, by constantly pulling strings for you! THEY didn't give a shit about him; they would have killed him. He didn't have your immunity or standing within the Syndicate. Scully barely did, through association with you. Both of them would have been dead a long time ago if you hadn't proven to them so vividly and unforgettably that to take away those closest to you, your support system, caused you to behave irrationally, out of control! I've constantly had to clean up the messes you leave behind! THAT is why I always end up in the thick of the SHIT that you stir up in your wake! Can't you understand that?" Krycek was practically spitting the words, in his passion.

Mulder put his hand to his forehead and rubbed it, wearily, wishing they could bring this to a close and go inside out of the rain. "That's all beside the point. Krycek, I can't help you. I just want to be left alone, to fall apart in peace. For some reason, you've always associated redemption and the hope of finding your own peace of mind with ME, probably out of some kind of sick projection of need and hero-worship. I have the integrity that you wish you had. I've been the honest advocate of the truth while you've skulked about in the shadows, too damn afraid to come to terms with the real horror of what you've become."

"I am NOT-"

"And what makes you think I'd believe a word of this, anyway? You're a pathological liar. You're the one who needs help. You need a breakdown too, but damned if I'm in a position to help you. Maybe later. But that's not an invitation and I'm not making any promises. Now, why don't you just get back into your car and drive home, back to wherever it is that you came from? I don't need you. And I'm getting really tired of finding you on my heels whenever I turn around. It's getting embarrassing. I didn't solicit your help and you're making a fool of yourself by continually following me around. Just... just go home, Alex. Try to get on with your life. I'm trying to deal with what has happened to me and move on. You'd do well to follow my example."

Mulder turned and walked away, up the beach, back through the dunes without a glance behind him. He didn't want to encourage Krycek to remain, in any way. A part of him felt sad and even slightly wistful, but he knew it was natural to feel sympathy for someone in Krycek's position, no matter how terrible the deeds they'd committed. It was easy even to feel sympathy for the Devil. And he should know, having made intimate acquaintance with many devils great and small in his years with the X-Files. Krycek had a point; he had been through hell. Poor bastard. Actually, truth be told, Mulder found it far easier to find sympathy for Krycek than for the Cigarette Smoking Man.

Shit.

He glanced over his shoulder but Krycek had gone... Or was at least out of sight down there under the dunes. What a day. He wondered why he was letting what Krycek said get to him. Bastard. Why'd he have to come snooping around? Every time he thought he was free of him, there was Alex Krycek... always turning up like the proverbial bad penny. Krycek was like a dog, who bit the hand that fed but couldn't stop himself from hanging around in the alley out back, pathetically hoping for scraps and the occasional bone.

Or boner, in this case, Mulder thought, morosely. The man was an open book.

It was far better and easier for him to return to the cottage and make himself lunch, sit down before the TV and a warm fire, and put Krycek and his father and Scully and the Cancerman and the whole damn, tangled, bloody business out of his mind. It was why he had come here, after all.

Somehow, the rest of his day didn't have the sense of hope that it had when he'd watched the morning arrive.

*

You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby  
I know you can, I've seen you do it  
And it brings up the wind  
And it rises around you in pillars of color  
But the promise has been broken  
As you walk through the shadow of death  
You try to see no evil  
But you are heartbroken  
You say, dear God, make it stop!

Alex stormed off down the driveway, back to his car. The freezing, driving rain lashed at his face, making it nearly possible for him to believe that his eyes weren't wet. But the drops running down his face were hot against his cold cheeks.

Fool, he thought caustically. What else did you expect? From MULDER, no less? Idiot, IDIOT!

He got into the car and slammed the door, sitting behind the wheel and taking a deep breath. Mulder was right. It was embarrassing for him to come out all this way just to beg Mulder to accept his friendship. Christ, what the hell had he expected? All the carefully thought-out points that he'd gone over before, they had fled his mind the moment he'd found himself in Mulder's presence. It was as if being near Mulder somehow rendered him incapable of intelligent thought, speech or action. Mulder's proximity turned him into a mindless, spineless idiot.

He felt helpless and entirely foolish. He'd stood out there with his heart in his hands, holding it out to Mulder and saying, here, take this... Make mincemeat of me. Let me care about you.

Jesus CHRIST.

He sighed and wiped his face. Okay, he sternly told himself, this was a fucking waste of time--cut your losses and get the hell out of Dodge. He was lucky Mulder had been in a contemplative, intellectual mode and hadn't lost his temper or given into his usual pattern of violence. That would have been just a perfect ending to that sordid scene.

And it hurt, it really did; to have Mulder rebuff him. Claiming that he'd come crawling to Mulder, seeking forgiveness and mercy, out of need and...

He angrily turned the key in the ignition and drove off, scattering gravel from the tires as he sped away. He clung to his anger in an attempt to keep at bay the disappointment and heartache that suddenly consumed him. It didn't work.

The hell of it was, Mulder was wrong... but he was also right. Why was he here at all, if not to try to befriend Mulder? And Mulder refused to believe him, to take his offer at face value. The self-righteous, arrogant, selfish prick.

Dammit! Alex slammed his hand against the wheel in frustration.

Why did he want anything to DO with someone like that?! Why did he keep trying, why did he even care? Why care if Mulder wanted to sit up here and sulk? Why care if Mulder was out here, all alone, falling apart? Facing his nightmares and the ghosts from his past, reliving the demons and the bodies and the aliens and the torture on the ship and being dead and... Fuck, FUCK!

The answer was somewhere in that image, of Mulder sitting alone in the cottage at night, waking up from a nightmare in a cold sweat. Shaking. Alone. Afraid. Falling apart.

Damn it. He knew what that was like. And he also knew how it felt to be going through it alone. And he didn't think that it was Mulder's pride that stopped him from accepting Alex's help. It was the simple fact that Mulder didn't trust him, or even like him. In fact, Mulder hated him, he truly did. And understood all too well that he couldn't leave Mulder alone.

But he did wonder if Mulder had any idea WHY Alex found it impossible to turn his back on Mulder for good. Oh, he'd be the first to agree that he found Mulder attractive. He always had, from the first time he'd laid eyes on the man. In fact, Mulder had been the same attractive, insufferable, self-righteous and insulting bastard from day one. No, it wasn't the sexual chemistry that he was sure they were both aware of.

It wasn't even the reluctant admiration that he also held for Mulder's sheer perseverance in the face of incredible odds to surmount any obstacle, the relentless persistence he showed in any circumstance, his undying integrity in the face of mediocrity and stonewalling bureaucracy, government players and even downright evil people.

He wondered if Mulder had any idea that it was he, Alex, Mulder's very own personal nemesis and unrecognized bodyguard, who'd saved his life back in Maryland with a vaccine, developed not by Mulder's father as he'd claimed but by the Resistance.

He let out a derisive breath. Mulder would probably claim that the gift was tainted from having come through such an infamous agency as the rat-bastard, murdering traitorous liar, Alex Krycek. Mulder was deluded and didn't want to face the simple facts because they were unpleasant. That maybe the reason Krycek always showed up in the thick of things was because he cared. He gave a damn about the neurotic, washed-up man whose sanity was hanging by a thread back there.

The man who never gave him an ounce of either credit or courtesy, in all the years Alex had known him.

Ungrateful, self-centric, fucking egomaniac, he thought, a fresh wave of fury sweeping over him. Couldn't even give him the credit of actually possessing any real concern for the situation, beyond that of a meddling mercenary.

He'd manipulated the downfall of the entire Syndicate and all Mulder could do was whine about his issues over his father--who'd trapped himself into that mess in the first place. And what kind of man let his wife fuck around with his best friend behind his back and then pretended he didn't know about it? What kind of man kept THOSE kinds of friends? And what kind of man then blamed his son for his actions, and let that same boy grow up to shoulder the guilt and the weight of his sister's disappearance, and all merely out of fear and guilt over his own involvement in the Project, and simple resentment that he'd been weak and let another Project Leader screw his wife? Fuck.

Mulder was living in denial about his father, himself, his past, his own family, and his associations over the years with any number of shady individuals. Had Mulder imagined that Deep Throat and X were somehow innocent of any wrongdoing? Those bastards had been in it up their eyes; they were hardly role models. And Mulder KNEW it.

But Mulder always responded to 'bad guys' who had recanted, who were in the process of converting to 'the good side'. He loved the whole theme of redemption; it allowed him to play the part of the White Knight who enabled them to find their peace and soothe their consciences. Mulder liked to be the savior who led by example, guiding the lost souls back to salvation.

Yeah, Mulder hated him because Mulder COULDN'T save him. No, instead, he kept saving Mulder all the time. What a fucking nightmare... Poor Mulder; having to feel beholden to someone who wasn't worthy... Poor, poor baby. Fucking son of a bitch, who always vented his frustrations on HIM...

Mulder always did enjoy hurting him. When he couldn't actually physically strike him, Mulder resorted to petty emotional cruelty and wielding his intellect like a sledgehammer. It wasn't that Alex was stupid, but there was that awful, minor detail about losing his composure when Mulder was around. It was hard enough simply trying to keep himself from jumping the man.

He drove back to Digby, cursing himself for being a stupid, heartsick wretch with delusions of becoming friends with someone who hated his guts and made the argument that Alex was projecting onto him, when he didn't have the sense to see where he was projecting onto Alex, himself! Fucking bastard son of a bitch; I hope he jerks-off so hard tonight, his dick drops off. He can cry himself to sleep and Alex Whipping-Boy Krycek won't be there to take his frustrations out on. Boo-fucking-hoo...

By the time Alex had arrived back at the inn, he had stopped swearing and his anger had diminished from a raging fire to a glowing ember inside. He sat in the car and took a deep breath, staring at the fishing boats that had all come back to the docks down by the wharf, in the rain. He realized he couldn't let Mulder talk him out of it, just because Mulder was afraid of him. Because that was the cause of Mulder's distrust, Alex was certain of it. Mulder was afraid to need him, afraid to accept his offer of help or friendship... Afraid to discover that maybe Alex Scumbag Krycek wasn't such a bad guy after all.

And besides, regardless of whether Mulder admitted it to himself or not, he needed Alex right now. Mulder was feeling sorry for himself and despite his earlier claims of maturity and inner health, he was displaying near-suicidal depression. Alex had only seen him this bad once before, when his new patron, the Brit, had ordered him to take Mulder the information on the rebel leader being held at the Air Force Base.

He'd let Mulder convince him. Holy-

He'd fallen for it! He'd actually swallowed the entire thing that Mulder had handed him... Idiot! He chuckled suddenly. Damn! What a fucking joke... on him. He shouldn't have given in so easily. He laughed out loud. Fucker probably thought that he'd got rid of him! Damned if he was going to slink away with his tail between his legs just because Mulder called him a bad name or two. Jesus. Well, the worst that could happen was that Mulder would shoot him.

Yeah, Mulder needed him. Mulder needed cheering up. He couldn't allow Mulder to talk him down into a mutual bad state... He needed to be there for Mulder. He cursed himself for being a weak-minded IDIOT for having let Mulder talk him out of it in the first place.

Oh well, it had been raining, cold and windy and Mulder was being an annoying sanctimonious son of a bitch...

So. The mission was still on. He was going to return and get Mulder to give in and accept his help if it was the last thing he did. And THIS time, he wouldn't let Mulder get to him. He'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book--aversion therapy. Mulder was a master of manipulation himself, and oh-so-good at understanding just how to pull someone in... or push them away. He'd pressed every one of Alex's buttons. Damn him.

Well, Mulder was not going to push him away this time. Mulder was in for a surprise.

There was also the little matter of being at a loose end, himself. Alex had nowhere to go and nothing better to do. And it was Christmas Eve.

He had to check out before the hotel closed, too. Mulder was going to find him camped on his front door for Christmas. That thought warmed him inside, along with just how Mulder would react when he discovered that Alex hadn't left after all.

Chuckling, he went inside to find out what time they were actually closing up the inn for rest of the holiday and the winter season, but when he asked, the lady at the desk helpfully told him that they were still serving a late Christmas supper for the guests before they departed--and a few people who had made special reservations at the beginning of the month to celebrate a Christmas meal together, at this very inn. She explained that they weren't expecting many but it was a special occasion, and they had a glut on lobster at the moment. It wasn't too late for him to make a dinner reservation if he wanted.

Perfect, perfect! It fit in with his plan perfectly. With a grin, he made reservations for two. Then he picked up the phone.

It rang perhaps seven times or so before it was picked up and he heard Mulder's familiar droning monotone, sounding actually suspicious... Probably wasn't expecting anyone to know he was there. Krycek was the only one who COULD be phoning.

"Mulder."

"Hey, Mulder. It's me."

There was a deep sigh. "What do you want, 'me'?"

"I thought our little chat didn't really go down the way I'd wanted it to. Well, that, and it's Christmas Eve, and you're all alone out there by yourself... And I'm here in this great little place that serves fantastic food. You need cheering up, you're obviously languishing in abject misery. Why don't you come by for dinner?" "Followed, I suppose, by candlelight, dessert and mood music? Alex, give it up. I'm not interested in your attempts to prove how friendly you can be."

"Mulder? Don't hang up. This is an offer you can't refuse. If you come by, I promise it will be worth your while. I have information here that even you would kill for."

There was a silence. "Keep talking."

"No, you have to meet me here. You don't get anything unless you actually show up."

There was a pained reply. "Krycek, why are you doing this to me? Why won't you leave me alone?"

Lightly, he said, "Come on, Mulder, go with it. Don't be a party-pooper. And something else... I really WILL call Scully and tell her just exactly how desperately on the edge you are if you don't show up for dinner here tonight. I swear I'll do it. I'll make it sound as if you're about to eat a bullet in despair over the hopeless waste that your life has become."

"Gee, lies AND threats for Christmas... Krycek, you'll spoil me."

"Meet me at the Kingfisher, just outside Digby. Our reservation is at seven-thirty."

There was an even heavier sigh, and then the phone was put down.

He hung up himself, grinning.

He'd hooked him.

*

Before the dawn of separation  
Brings up the wind  
Rises around you  
I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La  
Pillars of color  
Trouble in Shangri-La  
I make accommodations for you

Mulder parked and got out of the car with a feeling he identified as anticipation. He wanted it to be fear and doubt. He couldn't justify feeling good about seeing Krycek again. But he felt slightly bad about the way he'd treated Alex earlier. He hadn't meant to be cruel, or harsh. The bastard WAS a murdering, untrustworthy slimeball, and he couldn't account for the need to make amends for having hurt Krycek's feelings.

Perhaps it was that he couldn't really justify continuing to rail at the man, now that they were both in a neutral position, without anything between them but -

Nothing but the cold, hard facts. No more Consortium, no more FBI. No more sister to find, no more agenda to pursue. No more trying to save the world and fight alien invasions, from opposite sides of both the globe... and the law.

Krycek had killed, in what he could only describe as cold-blood. How could he overlook that fact? And why was he feeling sorry for someone capable of such behavior? Hell, he'd felt less pity for truly pitiful mutant monsters and wrecks of human debris that'd led utterly futile lives, yet he'd treated it all as just part of his job. Just another good old case on the X-Files. Actually, Scully had often pointed out to him that he tended towards sympathizing and showing concern for destitute misfits because he couldn't help relating with them, identifying with their position--so tentative and on the edge of humanity...

Actually, Krycek was on the edge of humanity, too. But, he was still human, wasn't he?

And he felt more remorse now for having been shitty to the man than he had for not doing more for burnt-out monsters who'd lost their way.

His mental train of thought was abruptly brought to a halt by realizing that he'd entered the inn and was standing by the desk. The receptionist was staring at him. She had matching tiny red and green gift boxes for earrings. "Those are cute," he said, absently, watching them swing as she moved her head.

She smiled widely at him. "Why, thank you. And how may I help you?"

"I have a dinner reservation with--ah--" he fell short, uncomfortably, suddenly aware that he didn't know what name Krycek was registered under, here. "I'm Fox Mulder. I'm meeting someone who's a guest here?"

Her face lit with recognition. "OH, yes--Mr. Mulder. We saved a table for you and your friend. We have a Christmas party going on just now in the adjoining room--I hope you won't find it too raucous," she grinned over her shoulder as she led him into the dining rooms. "Last night of the season, and all."

"Do you get a lot of business around this time of year?" Mulder inquired, wondering why an inn would be open during the winter months, instead of the summer.

"No. We're closed for the winter but we re-open for a few weeks before Christmas, because of the tourists. We invariably have a wedding or something like that here." She chuckled. "Digby IS known as the most romantic place in Canada, after all!"

"It is?" He wondered if Krycek had any idea. Maybe THAT was why the bastard had--but... no, he'd picked this place himself. Huh. Now that WAS spooky, he thought. How in the hell had he managed to pick-

"Why, yes," she replied. "We were voted the most romantic in a recent magazine, too. The sunsets, the fishing fleet, the views... You know." She grinned at him.

He smiled back. "Yeah. It IS nice here."

"How long are you staying?" she asked.

"A few weeks. I've really enjoyed it here, though."

She chuckled. "They all say that. Now, I'd be willing to bet that you'll tell all your friends about it, and if they ever come up here, they'll all say the same thing. 'He said it was such a beautiful place. I didn't believe it but he was right!' It happens all the time," she chattered. She led him to a table where Alex Krycek was sitting, situated by the window.

"Here you are, sir. There's ice, water, and the wine, too. I'll be by soon to take your orders, okay?"

"Thank you," Mulder said, feeling a bit dazed.

"Thanks," Krycek grinned up at her.

After she'd gone, Mulder sat down across from him. "Well, well, well. What's someone like you doing in a place like this?"

Krycek's wary expression didn't change. "What do you mean? Here, have some wine. I opened it, to let it breathe," he said, half-jokingly and poured Mulder a glass of the Seyval Blanc.

"Digby," Mulder said, as if that made everything clearer now. "It was voted the most romantic place in all of Canada, this year. And the last. Apparently this is quite the honeymooners' idea of paradise."

The lights on the harbor caught his eye, and he peered through the window. The boats, trawlers and smaller fishing ships were moored at the wharf, in the cove. The falling flakes of snow subdued the lights illuminating the boats. He wondered briefly if he'd be able to drive back, if the snow kept falling and began sticking to the roads.

"You're kidding," Krycek stated, as if he didn't believe it for an instant.

"No, seriously, Alex. The waitress was telling me about it. She said that everyone who visits here always recommend their friends, and they always agree. It's the sunsets, the stunning vistas of the coast and the bay, here."

"Really?" Krycek sounded surprised. "Well, it IS nice. I SAID you'd picked a good spot, coming out here. Why'd you pick it, anyway?"

"I tried to think of the most inaccessible, remote and uninviting place I could, to ensure that no one from my past would follow me. Little did I know that I was inviting you into a tourist trap with romantic trimmings. Merry Christmas."

"Thanks, I think," Krycek responded, not really knowing how to respond to a civil Mulder. "I meant, why Nova Scotia, but never mind."

Ha. Krycek was cracking already. Maybe there were better ways to have his revenge AND watch Krycek come undone, than beating him up or hurting his feelings... Mulder had to stop the smile from wandering over his face. "So, what's good here, Krycek? This is your treat--you dragged me away from my retirement cottage, just when I was settling down into a really great sulk in the dark, cold rainy night. What did you have in mind? Wine me, dine me and feed me up to the latest alien threat for a good mind-wipe, just for old times' sake?"

Handing him the menu, Krycek ignored his commentary and stuck to the bare essentials. "My treat, indeed, Mulder. Well, the lobsters here could give Rudolph a run for his money. And I was thinking, the octopus-"

Mulder coughed and sipped his wine. "No. No way in hell are you getting me to eat octopus. Besides, I don't want to die of ink poisoning. Imagine how embarrassing that would be: lying in the coffin on view for all to see, ink running out of every orifice."

"Mulder, have you ever actually tried octopus? It's all in the way it's prepared--squid, too. They're both really good with a lemon-butter dip, or even cocktail sauce."

"I'll stick with the swordfish and scampi, thanks."

"Come on, live a little." His eyes dancing with mischief, Krycek commented, "I thought you were open to extreme possibilities and new experiences."

"I'm not as eager to expand my culinary horizons. I'll try it, just to taste it. All the same, I think the swordfish is less likely to stage a revolt from within, after I've eaten it."

"You never know. The movie showed that swordfish can be fishier than mollusks."

"Movie? Ohhh, right. Swordfish... Yes, killing as a means to an end... No doubt John Travolta's character in that film became a role model for you, Alex. Or have I got it backwards--they modeled him after YOU?"

Krycek didn't reply. His gaze narrowed and he seemed to distance himself without moving, retreating back into his usual impassive mask.

Score one for me, thought Mulder. Then realized that in gaining that little victory, he'd slammed shut the door that had opened between them during the small talk. He sighed through his nose and picked up his wine glass. "Look, I'll trust your judgment. You can order for both of us. I don't have your prowess in the art of ordering cephalopods."

Krycek's gaze flicked down to the table, then up to regard the rest of the room. "You'll never be Martha Stewart, Mulder."

"Thank god for small favors."

Krycek scrutinized him closely.

"What?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek shook his head and frowned, looking away again. "I never took you for a cynic. It just seems so out of character for you to be so cynical and flippant at the same time. But, maybe I don't know you as well as I thought."

"Good point. But I'm willing to make an effort to behave myself, if you are."

Krycek replied with a wink. "I'll be on my best behavior, Mulder. I won't grope you, or even pinch. Besides, I wouldn't want to draw back a stump. I've only the one arm left."

Mulder felt sick, at the reminder. He opened his mouth but the waitress came by to take their orders so he shut it and let Krycek order. He hoped Krycek knew what he was doing. He contented himself by mostly staring out the window at the boats in the dark, as the snow continued to fall slowly, between them and the lights. Every flake disappeared instantly as it fell into the water.

Krycek picked the Seafood Platter and the swordfish steaks, with a glance to reassure Mulder that he wasn't going to order anything with tentacles, along with potatoes, fries and various side dishes and dips. The waitress smiled cheerily and walked away, leaving Alex to smirk at Mulder.

"You look pleased with yourself."

"I am," Krycek continued to smirk. "I have every reason to be. Mulder, I'm going to prove to you that great fun can be had with just a plate of seafood and a bowl of butter."

"Sounds kinky. I guess I'm in."

"It's not kinky at all. It's quite the rage, here. That, and Lobster Newburg. I was going to order the Newburg, but then I realized you were a virgin to authentic Nova Scotia seafood. I'm making a great sacrifice, you know."

"Last Tango in Digby. Sounds like one of my porno videos."

"I wasn't flirting, Mulder, so you might want to dispense with the cheap humor. You never were any good at adlibbing."

"Considering your performance down at the beach today, Alex, I'd say your own talents lie in the dramatic arts. You should be doing tragedies. But I guess you've already been involved in enough of those in real life."

Krycek sniffed and sipped from his wine. "Nope. You're not getting away this time, Fox. You're in for the long haul. You can't push me away again. You need me; I know you do. I've seen you like this before. You've lost your will to go on, haven't you?"

"Well, considering what you did the last time you thought I needed my spirits lifting, maybe I should worry about being groped. Last time, you kissed me. And again, the perennial question, Alex. Why should YOU give a damn? I'd've thought you'd have the last laugh if I lost all my marbles and ended up back in the psych ward."

"No way. This is much more fun. I can't taunt you if you're locked up, Mulder. I can't cheer you up, either."

"Why taunt me at all? Why can't you -" Mulder stopped, and looked away, disgruntled.

Krycek leaned forward, his face and his voice both serious and disturbingly caring. "What? Why can't I what?"

"You offered friendship," Mulder pointed out. "So far, I see very little evidence of friendly behavior. All you've ever DONE is taunt me, and I-"

He stopped short, as the waitress arrived with the huge plate of fish and seafood on a trolley, and two large plates of swordfish. Then she unloaded two large bowls of melted butter beside them.

"If you need more, just holler," she smiled. "If it gets cold, I can reheat the butter. And let me know if you need more rolls or wine, or anything. Okay? Bon Appetite, gentlemen." And she tripped merrily away, probably to dream of what she was going to buy with her substantial bonus for working on Christmas Eve.

Krycek watched her depart, his eyes fixed on her pert backside as it shifted beneath her skirt. Mulder also turned to look and then sat back, feeling ridiculous.

"Just like Pavlov's dog," he muttered.

Krycek shrugged. "She's cute."

"Well, that was extraordinarily fast," Mulder commented, a bit shocked at the rapidity with which the chef must have thrown all of it together.

"I told them ahead of time what we'd probably have," Krycek admitted. "They'll be closing the kitchen early tonight. We have about an hour and a half to plough through all of this, all of our issues, and dessert too."

"Krycek," he reminded, indicating the plate of weird-looking creature pieces. "You got me into this. How is one supposed to eat these--these THINGS?"

"Surely you're not a stranger to shrimp, mussels or crab, Mulder?"

Mulder grimaced. "They look like something that Scully and I investigated once..."

"They probably are, knowing all the kinds of weird, fucked-up things you used to investigate in the hopes of finding intelligent life. Now, these are shrimp. Jumbo, too... juicy little critters, aren't they? Don't eat the tails, just the juicy part. And the swordfish--just eat it like you would salmon. Mulder," Krycek gently reminded him, "You have to pick up your fork, for that."

"Most of this is finger food, anyway. Wait...that," Mulder pointed accusingly, "is squid. I know it, I can FEEL it. I can even smell it."

"Don't be such a baby," Krycek muttered. "Here, I'll take it away." He picked up his fork and removed the offensive items, putting all the pieces of squid on his plate beside his own swordfish. "There, it's all gone. Happy now?" he asked, with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Thanks for saving me, Krycek. You're my hero," Mulder replied, sarcastically. "So, what is this stuff you've ordered, here? The only thing I really recognize are the potatoes with the green prickly stuff on it."

"New potatoes with dill, Mulder," Krycek corrected, dryly.

"Yeah, well, when I order out, I usually get Chinese. Not sushi."

Krycek sighed. "This isn't sushi, this is seafood, the cuisine classics of Nova Scotia's finest." He leaned forward to snag a morsel of lobster, with his fingers, dipped it in the melted butter and chewed with a look of satisfied contentment.

Mulder began to see a pattern developing. But he was game. He leaned forward and selected the least obnoxious appearing piece of food from the plate and followed suit, dipping it with his fingers into the butter and then eating it.

Jesus. Fucking delicious. Incredible, in fact.

The look on his face must have given him away because Krycek was laughing. "Told you."

Mulder picked up his fork and began to eat his swordfish. He closed his eyes and couldn't help savoring the rich, subtle flavor, garnished with lemon and a sprig of parsley. He hadn't been living all this time when he'd made do with pizza and takeout, he thought to himself. "Fattening me up for the slaughter, Krycek?"

"Not at all. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Mulder choked on his mouthful. "I thought this was just dinner," he said, wiping his eyes with his napkin and then glaring in what he hoped was his most accusing expression.

Krycek was unfazed. "It is."

Mulder sighed. "Krycek, you don't have to bother with this seduction scene if all you're after is a quick fuck."

"I'm not."

Oh, shit. That--that could be taken either way. Mulder looked down at his plate, not really seeing the food on it. Toying with his fork, he considered. He wasn't stupid--he knew that Krycek was interested, or he wouldn't keep pursuing him like this. Either Alex really wasn't looking to get laid from this and really did just want to have a quiet dinner with him, to 'help him relax' and everything... Or he wanted a hell of a lot more than just sex and Mulder wasn't prepared to even consider the implications THAT would entail. The commitment alone was a terrifying prospect.

Dryly, Krycek said, "For god's sake, Mulder, stop looking so terrified. I'm not going to rape you in public. It's not my style."

"I wouldn't know, would I?" Mulder fell back on his usual sniping which, now that he thought of it, came a little too easily when he was anywhere near this man. That in itself began to blink like a neon warning sign in his head. Shit, he thought. What have I gotten myself into, here?

Krycek thoughtfully selected a piece of fish and dipped it in the tartar sauce. "Exactly my point. You've never known me at all. You assume and project a lot, but you never want to get to know me. Not really. It would challenge the carefully constructed theory you have in your head about my character defects."

Mulder's response was bitter and he said it without thinking. "Funny. I never thought of cold-blooded murder as a 'character defect' before."

Krycek stared back at him, an expression of regret and resignation clouding his face.

Abruptly, Mulder wished he hadn't said it. And just as suddenly, almost like having a light bulb switch on in his head, he realized he didn't want to push Krycek away again like he had on the beach earlier in the day. The nearly irresistible impulse to break through Krycek's carefully maintained icy calm and composure was what had led to so many instances in the past where he'd given into it and just... Attacked him. Righteously, with God and the angels on his side.

The pattern made itself even more apparent and clear in his mind... That knowing, infuriating smirk Krycek always wore. It made him want to beat it off Krycek's face. He found himself breathing harder. He wanted to--to hurt him, to force SOME kind of reaction, some evidence of suffering or remorse or...

Quickly, Mulder continued with an accusatory tone, "You just want to get laid."

Krycek choked on his mouthful, hastily grabbed his napkin. Then he sipped from his wine glass and began coughing and laughing, alternately. Finally, he said, sniggering, "Mulder, there's as much a chance of me getting laid tonight as there is of Santa Claus coming down your chimney with a flying saucer stuffed in his sack just for you. You're an uptight, conservative, homophobic, repressed whiner. Did I say whiner? I meant wiener. A tight-assed wiener. In fact, there's more chance that a flying saucer will land on your roof, and a bunch of grays will come down your chimney and subject you to a thorough rectal examination. Which reminds me, are you sure you haven't got any locator chips inside of you, somewhere? As I have no doubt you are well aware, most alien abductees have implants... That way, they can always find you, when it's time for your annual anal probing." Krycek was laughing.

Curious, and not a little stung at the thought that Krycek considered him an uptight, conservative wiener, Mulder asked, "I'm sure. I was scanned. Repeatedly--by HUMAN doctors. And how can you--How can you be so sure? You don't know me at all. You can't just dismiss me like that; there is no way in hell that you know me well enough to make that kind of judgment about me."

"I know you well enough. I know you hate my guts. You always have. In fact, I noticed it the moment we met. Remember that? You instantly formed this irrational, antagonistic dislike for me that went way beyond your usual paranoid suspicion. I always wondered why that was."

"You were an irritating, brown-nosing rookie who snatched the Cole case out from under me," Mulder stated, remembering it well. "And besides, my 'paranoid suspicions' about you turned out to be true, remember?"

Krycek's smirk intensified. "Uh-huh. And that's why you've never been able to keep your hands off me."

Mulder squirmed. "Alright. I'm willing to admit that maybe a part of why I hated you was because you-" He stopped short, aghast at what he was saying, what he had been about to say.

Krycek looked interested. As well he might, thought Mulder. But Krycek only nodded and said, "Because I what? Go on. This is getting better by the minute."

Mulder sighed through his nose and continued to eat, instead.

When Mulder didn't reply, Krycek carried on. "Interesting comparison, wouldn't you say? You don't like it when I make judgments about your character and personal habits, but you're always very quick to make them about mine. It isn't very pleasant on the receiving end, is it? But don't take it to heart, Fox. I was joking, that's all. Don't take it seriously. In a way, you could see it as my helping you to loosen up, relax a little. I'm trying to help you get back your sense of humor."

Bitterly, Mulder picked up his wine glass and chugged down a healthy gulp, then another. "Thanks. I knew I could count on you to give me the most interesting Christmas present ever."

"It's called the 'truth', Mulder... But that's not my Christmas present to you. Neither is the sense of humor, which was always really warped anyway, and I guess maybe you're better off without it. No, I've got something much more special in mind for you." There was a disturbing glow in Krycek's eyes as he said this.

Mulder found himself wondering if he should be looking forward to this 'gift' Krycek had for him... Or running for cover. "I can't wait," Mulder commented. "Wait a minute." He looked back at Krycek, a sudden thought occurring to him. "You said you had information for me."

Krycek's gaze slid to the half-cleared seafood platter between them. He selected a large shrimp and swirled it in cocktail sauce. Mulder found himself watching with fascination as the plump shrimp disappeared between Krycek's lips. He quickly lifted his eyes back to meet Ale--Krycek's...eyes... Twinkling eyes... Really nice eyes... that sparkled knowingly back at him even in that very moment.

Fuck. He was starting to succumb to suggestion here. It was the wine. It was the dinner... It was the butter... melted, salty, dripping...

He took a deep breath and drained his glass.

Chewing with a thoughtful expression, Krycek said, "I do. I have information for you, but it's kind of in two parts. I can't just give it to you, here. And besides, there's my Christmas present as well. I certainly can't give that one to you here, either. I'd be arrested. We both would."

Mulder snickered. "For what? Intent to theorize? Breaking Canada's regional laws against conspiring to uncover the secret Canadian government's plans to colonize the world?"

"No. Good guess, though. But wouldn't it be ironic for you and I to spend the night in the local jail together for indecent exposure and committing lewd acts in public?"

Mulder stared. He blinked. "Okay," he finally said, sitting back in his seat. "Now I KNOW you're coming onto me."

"Not at all," Krycek grinned, toothily. "I just thought it was funny, that's all. Come on, you've got to admit that would really be ironic."

"It would, indeed," Mulder agreed. "You can at least tell me what the information pertains to."

Krycek shook his head, quickly. "Nope. Not here. You see, it's rather... damning evidence. I'm implicated in it, implicitly. I can't tell you, when there's still a chance you'll grab some local constable and have me thrown in the local jail over Christmas with only a lonely, horny... constable for company." Krycek grinned again, enjoying the way Mulder squirmed in his seat once more.

Krycek waited, until just as Mulder was about to speak, and added, "I knew it. It's the prison fantasies that turn you on, isn't it, Mulder? I'll just bet you'd love to sling my ass into the slammer. You'd frisk me, cuff me, escort me to my cell--personally--bend me over... and then give me a full body-cavity search... Wouldn't you?"

"You wish," Mulder retorted, flatly. He could feel his face getting hot though and he wondered how the hell Krycek could have found out the exact details of one of his most private, unvocalized jerk-off fantasies... Then common sense prevailed. It was one of the more widely known 'private and unvocalized' fantasies of many people, male or female. He cleared his throat. "In your dreams, Krycek. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely," Krycek murmured, not smiling, his eyes fixed on Mulder's face. "But if I can be serious for a minute," he trailed off, swallowed and then leaned forward, carefully selecting another shrimp. This time he made more of a production of it, dipping it and coating it liberally with tartar sauce and then deliberately and slowly placing it between his lips, before sucking it into his mouth--and pulling the tail off with a slight pop. Mulder couldn't take his eyes away.

Krycek said, chewing with a contemplative gaze at him, "Mulder, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were sitting over there daydreaming about how good it would feel to drive your cock into me, very hard, right across this table. Am I right?"

He stopped and looked up, just before the waitress returned to their table. Mulder sucked in a breath and remembered to unclench his fist. He didn't know if he wanted to pound it into Krycek's soft, full lips and make them bleed, or grab Krycek's dick under the table and fist him, right then and there--when the waitress left. Or maybe just go down on him under the table. Or--yeah, drive his cock into him... Oh jesus...

Yeah, pour a little of the melted, cooled butter into his palm, dribble a little between Alex's asscheeks and then just--just--slide into home base... oh fuck--

He didn't even hear what they were saying, his heartbeat was pounding in his ears and his bloodstream pulsing, rushing in his head. The waitress smiled at him, gave him a slightly puzzled little frown and then left.

Krycek gave him a strange look. "Snap out of it, Mulder. You look like you're on drugs or something." He took in Mulder's dilated pupils and flushed face. "Jesus, you ARE going to get us arrested. I'd say we're closer than ever to spending the night in that cell, Mulder. Come on, I was only kidding about doing it on the table. You're the one with the repressed, homophobic issues, right? I was just teasing you."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "Teasing?"

A furtive expression darted over Krycek's face, as if he was suddenly aware that he might have taken it too far. "Yeah. I was only teasing. Come on, Mulder, you don't think I was serious!"

Right. Krycek had just blown his cover. Mulder realized that Krycek must've been dying to find a way to bring all of those homoerotic references into a conversation with him... He returned to his swordfish, fork in hand, and began polishing off the potatoes too. "These are really quite excellent," he commented.

Krycek regarded him. "Are you angry? I haven't offended you, have I? I was only joking, Mulder. I wasn't trying to upset you."

"Not at all, Alex," Mulder replied, lightly, his voice a reflection of pure, smooth congeniality. "I should thank you, in fact. You've answered so many of my questions and in such record-short time, too. Usually, trying to get anything out of you is like...having to beat it out of you. It's really been the most illuminating chat we've ever had."

Krycek put his glass down. "Mulder, what is your PROBLEM? You know damn well that I've been on your side, for years now. Why do you keep harping on about the same old shit, year after year, every time we meet? It's getting tiresome with you trotting out the old morality rope and attempting to lynch me with it."

"The end justifies the means, for you. 'Kill all violence'... Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"At least I'm not a hypocrite. How many have you slain in your life? Innocent or not?"

"That's not the same thing."

"You carried a gun for years. So did Scully. Jesus, talk about compensation... She made up for her lack in height and masculinity by becoming trigger-happy."

"Scully was not trigger-happy," Mulder said, disapprovingly.

"She shot YOU, Mulder."

"To save me," Mulder retorted, angrily.

"What a coincidence," Krycek said, sitting back, his eyes flashing with satisfaction at having maneuvered him into a corner. "That's practically the story of my life. I have to keep shooting people around you in order to save you. Why, I wonder if that puts me on an equal footing with Scully? Maybe if I shot YOU to save your life, you'd forgive me for the rest? It worked for her, after all. Hell, if I'm lucky, maybe you'll even give me a baby..."

"You don't want to get into this, do you? I mean, it was because of YOU that she ended up being unable to bear a child, getting cancer and practically DYING, Krycek!"

"Lower your voice, if you don't want to get us thrown out," Krycek sighed.

"Explain to me the difference between killing and death, Krycek."

Krycek exhaled. "Mulder, death is as valid a part of our existence as life is. You of all people should know that most find it extremely inconvenient to think about death until it bites them in the ass--or someone close to them. Just because I--and you, in fact--have taken lives, doesn't mean that we're devils incarnate."

"True. But there's an old Buddhist term called 'karma'. It means 'action or deed', and it's said that we get back what we put out."

"Bullshit! Now you ARE being a hypocrite. If you truly believed that, then why didn't you pursue a career that wouldn't entail you carrying a loaded weapon?!"

"Killing is an act; death is an experience."

Krycek stopped cold, his mouth parted. He shut it and turned away, sitting back in his seat.

"It is an enormous responsibility to shorten another's life," Mulder continued. "Not only do the Buddhists, Tibetans, Chinese and the Hindus and a major portion of the non-Christian religious world population believe that we eventually reap the rewards of our actions later on, but they have an exemplary record for spiritual, cultural and traditional values. I'm not saying I'm considering becoming a Buddhist, but you have to admit they have a point."

Krycek glowered. "And where is the warrior, in this little utopia? Where is the appropriate place for the soldier, the warrior, the protector?! The one you call when you want something taken care of, or a particularly difficult wild animal slain? Christ, with this pacifist trend, we'll all end up a bunch of mamsy-pamsy New-Age emotional wrecks with crystals in our hands," he sneered. "Who's gonna save all our asses from the Black Oil, then? The Grays? The shadow governments? WHO?!"

"Uh, Alex... I think it's your turn to lower your voice."

Breathing hard, Krycek turned away, staring bitterly out the window. He closed his eyes.

"I agree," Mulder murmured.

Krycek opened his eyes and blinked. "What did you say?"

"I said, I agree with you. We can't have one without the other. It's like the yin and yang, the eternal balance of the forces of nature. We need the hawks and the doves, the warriors and the priests."

Krycek sighed through his nose. "Yeah. And you're the Shaolin monk, seeking justification for killing through Zen. What a crock of shit."

Mulder laughed, quietly.

Krycek's face darkened further.

"I'm not laughing at you, Alex. I'm laughing--because you're right. I see it now; I've always been the 'caped avenger', suffering under the delusion of the whole Superman complex that most westerners have... the need to become an immortal star and yet not have to apply themselves to the rigors of faith, rather than science. I sit on two stools, between God and Science and I never choose, I just--sit. And now I've fallen in the crack," he ended, forlornly. "Now I see why my life has ended up... here." And he picked up his glass and raised it, with a self-mocking smile.

He could practically see the apprehension rising on Krycek's face. Calmly, he said, "Don't worry, Alex, I'm not going to kill myself or you over it. Now, what about dessert?"

Krycek gave a snort of disgust. "I KNEW you weren't paying attention. She was telling us that we need to get out of here if we want to be able to make it home. The snow is piling up outside."

Mulder glanced outside, and then around the inn. The loud party crowd had already dispersed. People were pulling on coats and jangling keys.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

Krycek didn't stand up when he did though, and Mulder asked, "You aren't staying here, are you?"

Krycek swallowed. "Actually, I don't know where I'm staying. They're closing up here, for the winter. Um, I -" he stopped and bit his lower lip, looking so lost and mournful that Mulder sighed.

"Okay, okay, you can stay with me. Come on. Get up, let's go. We've got to try to get home before they close the highway."

"I'll have to drive behind you--I've got to pay the tab and check out and get my things."

"Whatever."

Mulder left the inn, and it was with a slight buzz from the wine that rapidly dissipated as he kept the window rolled down to clear his head, that Mulder found himself driving back to the cottage for the second time that day, with Alex Krycek in tow.

*

I guess we don't believe  
That things could go that far  
We all believe in people...  
That we think believe in God  
Somewhere in the night...  
Someone feels the pain  
The ones who walk away  
Try to love again...

When Alex pulled up and parked just behind Mulder's car outside the cottage, the snowfall had become a flurry of huge white flakes, pouring down from the sky as if from a torn pillowcase raining feathers.

The light was on in the living room, casting a warm glow from the window out onto the snow, backlighting the cottage and framing it against the dark pine trees behind it. Alex found himself staring at it; it was too picture-perfect, like a postcard.

He shut the car-door and locked it, going to the trunk to remove his two bags. Everything he owned was in them; he had intended to settle down wherever Mulder was planning to be, otherwise he would have traveled more lightly. He hadn't lied to Mulder. He really was at a loose end right now, without anything better to do and no better idea of where to go.

The waves boomed and crashed down past the dunes in the darkness, and he could see the distant flashing of a beam out across the water in the distance, from a lighthouse.

In a way, this cottage was his lighthouse, for now.

It was going to take nerves of steel to withstand Mulder's strange, oscillating mood swings here tonight and probably for as long as he stayed, too. But, it was what he was here for. He took a breath of the cold air and thought, forward-- time to start trying to heal the past, pick up the pieces and build something that, although fragile and tenuous at best, was more than he'd ever believed he'd have a chance at.

He rapped on the door with the knocker. The door opened, framing Mulder with the warmth and cozy firelight behind him. Alex quickly said, "Mrs. Claus sends her regrets. She can't make it this year. She's too busy knitting mittens for the European Orphans Fund. But I bring gifts."

"Well, you're not Greek, so I guess I can accept them. As you haven't brought me a flying saucer, I'll let that go for now." Mulder shut the door behind him and said, "Take off your boots."

Alex did so, after putting his bags down. Standing and surveying the surprisingly spacious, well-kept and comfortable room, he commented, "It's even nicer in the evening."

"If you like it that much, you can keep it after I move out," said Mulder, sitting back down on the couch. He turned on the TV and then, seeing the flickering quality, flicked it off again. "The weather's screwing up our reception. You don't happen to know what the forecast is, do you?"

"Nope. Sorry." Alex took off his coat and hung it up on the peg on the back of the door. He walked over to couch, his socks threatening to skid out from under him on the bare wooden floor, and sat down on the opposite end from Mulder. Looking over at him, he said, "Thanks for letting me stay here."

Mulder gave him a sardonic look. "You'd have showed up anyway, eventually. This way, I think I've done you the favor of saving you about two or three hours stuck out in a snowdrift on the highway."

Alex smiled and looked away. "Thanks, I guess. Listen, when are you... thinking of moving out?"

"A week or so. Why, are you anxious to move in?"

Alex didn't look back at him, trying to not let his disappointment show on his face. But his heart sank a little with Mulder's words. "No, just curious as to what your plans are."

"They haven't changed. So. You said you had information for me?"

Jesus. He had said that, too. Although of course, he'd said it at the spur of the moment in the attempt to keep Mulder from hanging up on him... Damn. Okay... pull a rabbit out of nowhere fast, he thought to himself. Then he remembered and grinned slowly. Standing up, he carefully padded across the slippery wooden floor and went to retrieve an item out of one of his bags. Returning to Mulder with it, he held it out to him, waiting for Mulder to take it.

Mulder frowned at it, reading the label. "'Kava-kava root'?" Mystified, Mulder asked, "What's this for?"

Krycek sat back down and shrugged, folding his arms over his chest and sticking out his feet to rest them on the low table before them. "It's used as a natural substitute for Prozac, Zoloft and Paxil, in the treatment of depression and stress. I didn't know what else to get the agent who has everything--including P.T.S.D."

"Very funny. Is it good?"

"Yeah, it's non-habit forming; I take it when I don't want to develop any addictions but I really need a boost. It's fairly harmless stuff."

Mulder looked over at him, thoughtfully. "Thanks. Uh, is that it? You said the information came in two parts, and that even I would kill for it."

Alex snorted and said, "Come on, I had to say something that would get your interest. And can you really say that you didn't have a good time tonight? At least better than you would've had, sitting out here all alone?"

Mulder nodded, slowly. Then he got up, stretched, and said, "I've got cognac. Want some?"

Alex wondered since when did Mulder drink brandy of any kind... oh well. They were already on the outer edges of sanity anyway; why not just go with the flow. "Sure." The knot of tension that he found in the pit of his stomach hadn't gone yet; maybe the drink would help. He was a little worried about mixing it with the wine they'd drunk, earlier. Still, Mulder'd had more than he'd consumed with the meal, and neither of them were driving anywhere else.

End of the line, he thought. Mulder came to stand before him, holding the snifter out to him. He took it mechanically, then felt himself growing warm as he couldn't avoid touching Mulder's fingers when he took the glass from him. "Thanks," he murmured.

Mulder sat back down and also put his feet up. "I think that instead of helping me break down, you've helped me to break through."

Alex waited, sipping at the cognac and letting the fire trail down his throat and warm him, solidifying his resolve to not fuck this up. Don't babble, he thought. Let him get it out.

Sure enough, Mulder started up again. "I think I was afraid to let down my guard with you--not just because of your past betrayal, although we both know that was reason enough--but because I was afraid that I might actually be able to understand your point of view. Agree with it, even."

Shocked into speechless silence, Alex could only stare back at Mulder and wait. He sipped again, wondering what strange, psychedelic reverie Mulder was entering now.

Mulder continued, "I've been thinking a lot about what you said, about the hawks and the doves. We've been standing on the opposite ends of the argument, when in fact we represent two very necessary parts of the whole, like the yin and the yang. I'm not going to make like Elton John here, and start singing 'The Circle of Life', but I want you to know that I do comprehend your position, Alex."

Alex was starting to feel lightheaded. This was... unprecedented. "Uh, Mulder-"

"Seriously, I do see the contrasts between your life and mine, and they look a lot like the same pieces on the board. I played white, you played black. But now that we're no longer playing the game anymore, I can see that taking a step back from my own position is the only thing that will save me, or help me to actually win anything, win what I want. My peace of mind. And I think you're the same. You're facing the same challenge, to actually step away from the board and refuse to play the game anymore."

"I--can agree with that analogy to a point," Alex began, "but I fail to see how-"

"Please, let me finish. It doesn't mean that I can forgive what you've done, or even accept it, but I think I can accept that you've changed, and that you - both of us--we have an opportunity to change, here. Isn't that what we both really want?"

Feeling like a rug had been pulled out from under him--and a little like a boat tossing on the waves outside in the dark, Alex replied, "Yeah."

"So, can we both admit that we were wrong? And that the other has a point, about the shortcomings of the other, so that we can help each other learn how to achieve a balance, both within our own selves and together?"

At this point, he was willing to do just about ANYTHING to resolve the constant fighting and the tension between them. Alex sighed. "Yes. But Mulder, I've always been willing to-"

"I know you have," Mulder nodded. "So let's make a deal. Here, tonight. You help me to get through this and achieve that peace of mind I want, and in return, I'll help you to find the same thing. What do you say?"

Alex swallowed, hard, scarcely able to believe his ears. There had to be a catch in this somewhere.

"No tricks, no more games, and no lies," Mulder said, gently.

Alex finally looked back over at Mulder, nodding slightly. "Very well. I'll go along with it. I'm in."

"Good. And no more killing."

"Mulder, in my life, self-defense has necessitated a certain amount of-"

"Okay, but that's self-defense only. No more killing," Mulder stressed.

Alex flushed. "Do you think I get off on it? What, do you have some kind of mental image of me charging around blasting at people, or some shit like that? I've HATED having to kill anyone, and I don't take pleasure from it. And to be honest, I haven't yet killed a single, truly innocent person. Just because I've had to discharge MY firearms a few times in your vicinity doesn't mean I'm a bloodthirsty killer."

"I didn't say it does. I'm saying that you've got to understand something here. That killing people is part of what causes YOUR nightmares, Alex."

"You think I don't know that?! Believe me, my conscience is not the issue, here! And I have to say that the dreams about having my arm sawed off are a helluva lot more disturbing!"

"Alex," pointed out Mulder, softly, "you don't need to shout. I'm not accusing you, or judging you."

"Aren't you?"

"No. I'm pointing out, as any good psychiatrist would, that maybe--just maybe-- your state of mind, and your emotional self as well as your subconscious would have a better chance of healing if you made a pact inside with yourself to not kill anyone anymore. To give it up. To actively decide to give it up and henceforth AVOID any line of work that might require you to do so."

Alex let out his breath and closed his eyes. As if he pursued it as a fucking HOBBY... Opening them, he said, "I already have."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mulder said, a note of superiority and yet also approval in his voice. Somehow, Alex felt simultaneously glad and patronized at the same time. Mulder turned to regard him, adding, "So have I. And so I guess I should do MY part, and accept your offer of friendship."

Relief washed over Alex at these words, although a wary voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning, that beyond this door were pitfalls and opportunities for vengeance. He swirled the contents of his glass and nodded. "Good. Thanks."

He felt stiff and awkward, wondering how the hell he'd managed to get in this far without Mulder turning on him. It was only a matter of time before Mulder came to his senses and threw him out...

"Great. So. You said you had a Christmas present for me? Was this it?" Mulder held up the kava-kava.

Alex flinched, wondering if he dared to actually do what he'd had in mind, earlier. He felt far too raw and exposed right now to suggest... Oh hell, what better chance could he hope for, then right now? Why not try his luck? He grinned. And finished the cognac. Lowering his voice, he said, "Oh, I know just what to give you for Christmas, Mulder. A blow-job. Free; no strings attached."

Mulder considered him first with outraged shock, then as he considered it, gradual smug satisfaction as he let the suggestion settle in his mind. Slowly, he replied, "Okay, Krycek. Although somehow I can't help thinking that this is your Christmas present to yourself. You must be-"

"But there's one condition."

"Ah. Naturally. Why didn't I see that coming?" Mulder was sarcastic.

Krycek smiled, gamely. "You have to keep your eyes closed. I'll be watching; if you open your eyes, I'll stop."

"Why?" Mulder was suspicious.

"Why not? Think about it. This way, you don't have to remember that it was me, and you can have the added bonus of thinking of anyone you want while I do it."

"Yeah, but why do YOU want me not to watch?" Mulder persisted.

Krycek paused. "Because this way I don't have any strings attached, either."

Mulder considered this, too. "Alright."

Krycek's eyes widened slightly.

"What, did you think I'd pass up an opportunity like this?" Mulder asked, wryly.

"No, I didn't. In fact, you'd have to be utterly insane to pass this up." Alex found himself tensing in every muscle, unable to stop a slight trembling as his nervous system kicked into overdrive. He found himself hardening rapidly, unable to stop the sudden shift of temperature and the air between them from arousing him.

"Okay. So do it," Mulder said, the tiny quiver in his words giving away his own arousal and excitement.

"So close your eyes."

Without taking his eyes from Mulder's, watching the man carefully to ensure he didn't open them, Alex got up, approached him, then decided to just go for it. He climbed slowly over Mulder, his knees on either side, trapping Mulder to the couch, and lowered himself right onto Mulder's lap, fixing those startled hazel eyes with his own as Mulder's eyes flew open in shock. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a kiss--jesus, at last, at LAST--to Mulder's full, slack mouth. There was a ringing in his ears, and the warm, non-threatening sensation of Mulder's lips against his own was intoxicating. So... nice and warm and sweet and--oh god--so hot-

Mulder pulled away and tilted his head back, scanning the ceiling.

What the hell -? "What is it? What are you doing?" Alex asked, baffled.

"I'm looking for the mistletoe. I don't remember giving you permission to kiss me, just to blow me."

Alex sighed. "A little finesse, please. We have to work up to it; I'm giving you a Christmas present. Just...let me do this my way. Now, close your eyes... And this time, keep 'em closed."

Mulder's eyes narrowed, but then he closed them, obediently.

YES, Alex thought, triumphantly. And promptly began to nibble at Mulder's lips once more, this time moving slightly in place, in Mulder's lap.

Mulder's breathing was increasing in pace and getting heavier, and this time, he returned the pressure, moving into Alex's kiss.

Alex took this as a hopeful sign and lightly, tentatively flicked his tongue against Mulder's upper lip. Dancing over Mulder's lips, waiting, he was rewarded with Mulder finally parting them and letting his tongue-tip dart out to meet Alex's.

Alex felt a coil of lust encircle, clench in his lower belly and shoot down to his cock, which leaped in his jeans. He moaned against Mulder's mouth, unable to help himself.

He couldn't stop, he didn't want to stop, he should never ever leave, just stay here like this forever and let himself go under...

Mulder pulled back, turning his face away to the side again. "I knew it," he muttered cryptically, but he lifted his hips slightly under Alex, making the hard lump of his own confined erection obvious against the back of Alex's right thigh.

Alex's leg burned beneath the denim from the heat of Mulder's body and the knowledge that it was Mulder's hard cock there, beneath him, pressing into his leg.

Wildfire raced along his veins, shooting thrills of adrenaline and pleasure inside of him. He'd never thought he'd be here, doing this to Mulder. The sense of long-awaited fulfillment was marred with the awkwardness of the moment, however. Like a heavy hammer falling in slow motion upon him, he realized there was no going back. Alex froze in place.

Mulder cleared his throat, his eyes dutifully closed. "Uh, Alex?"

Alex quickly kissed him again, as much to try to pretend that everything was fine as to keep Mulder from becoming aware of his inner conflict.

He wanted this so badly, so very, very much. And here it was, all in front of him--UNDER him, wriggling slightly with obvious arousal. He drew back finally; he could tell from Mulder's lukewarm response to the kiss this time that Mulder could somehow instinctively tell that the energy had shifted between them.

The kisses were too much. Stupid, stupid! He should have just gone down on him. What was the problem? This act...

Of love, of worship. That was the inherent problem. It signified too much for him.

For Mulder, it was just a blow-job.

Not very much time had passed at all, realistically, although he felt lightheaded from the bewilderment of having been handed too much, too soon. He hadn't expected Mulder to capitulate so quickly. He'd expected more diatribe, more castigating judgmental morality lectures.

He began to have second thoughts, and then realized that if he backed out now, Mulder would think he'd chickened out. Sliding down over Mulder's knees, he ended up on the throw rug at Mulder's feet, his hand palming the length of Mulder's cock through his jeans. Mulder's head was back, his eyes still closed. There was a slight tremor in Mulder's hands--Alex smiled. Alex was willing to bet this was affecting Mulder far more than he'd expected.

He deftly unbuttoned the top of Mulder's jeans and then said, lowly, "Lift up," as he began to tug at Mulder's waist. Mulder quickly tore down the zipper and shucked the jeans over his hips, exposing his shorts that tented instantly.

Alex couldn't help make a little sound of satisfaction at the sight. He reached up again and pulled Mulder's shorts down; again, Mulder wordlessly assisted him. Nice, very nice, Alex thought with approval. Mulder's cock was certainly above average. He briefly reminisced that it was a damn waste and a crime that Mulder had been hiding this thing away all these years. Who'd ever have guessed he was hung well enough to have starred in his own porno films?

He grabbed it and Mulder sucked in a breath, involuntarily. Keeping an eye on Mulder's face, watching to ensure he didn't open his eyes, Alex leaned over and licked tentatively at the head, just the tip. Mulder tensed all over and made a strangled sound; he was breathing harder.

A spark popped in the fireplace, making both of them jump, and Mulder's hands flew to Alex's head. Drawing back, Alex said, "No, no. Let go. I'm not going to do this like that."

Mulder let go, his head back, practically panting. Jesus, he was going to hyperventilate, Alex mused. Been a long time, eh?

He licked at Mulder's cock again, this time inching his way down the length of it with his tongue, familiarizing himself with it. By the time he made his way back up to the crown, Mulder was trembling. Finally, Alex opened his mouth and took it in, until the glans was pressed against the back of his throat. He began a light sucking motion, up and down, no longer giving a shit if Mulder opened his eyes or not. But Mulder behaved and kept his fists at his sides and his eyes closed.

The sense of control over this man, of dictating his pleasure, was tantamount to finally having the dominance he'd always dreamed of. HE was doing this to Mulder; he was going to make him come. His own cock was aching, impatient, confined in his jeans.

He could feel the excitement in Mulder welling and gathering in his cock, he could tell that Mulder was very close. With his hand, he kept up the accompanying pace in a grip at the base, light and fast strokes in tandem with the bobbing of his head on Mulder's dick as he began to come.

Salty, rich and bursting onto his tongue, flooding his mouth with copious spurts, Mulder climaxed with a keening moan. He sounded like he was in pain.

Alex tried to swallow it all but couldn't help letting some of it drip down Mulder's shaft, as Mulder continued to groan and jerk slightly under him. Alex lashed at the head with his tongue, his grip tighter, working Mulder's cock until at last he stopped coming.

He pulled away, leaned back in again to lick at the escaped juices, cleaning Mulder's cock with washes of his tongue, then looked back up.

Mulder's face was fevered and damp, he looked debauched and his eyes were open but they were bright and dark. Mulder's lips were pressed together but he was breathing in a measured pace, catching his breath back.

Alex raised his brows at him. "Not half-bad, I take it? Merry Christmas, Mulder."

He nonchalantly got to his feet, considered his palm briefly, and then licked at it, cleaning it off in front of Mulder who stared at him, unable to take his eyes from Alex's tongue.

Mulder swallowed. He didn't say anything.

Alex looked down at him, taking in his softening cock in its dark nest of curly hair. Mulder was beautiful like that, exposed and vulnerable in his debauched pleasure. Mulder looked somehow more than naked, still sitting there in his shirt, with his jeans and shorts pulled down.

Mulder finally met his eyes. The combined intensity of Mulder's obvious release and wonder was mixed with vulnerability and an unspoken question of... why. Why had he done it? Why would Alex DO it, in the first place? Was it something he'd wanted, thought of often?

Alex couldn't help smiling, slightly. He slowly licked his lips. He turned and walked away into the kitchen, commenting, "Well, that was even better than the lobster. Thanks for dessert."

He went to the refrigerator, found a carton of orange juice, wrinkled his nose and searched further.

Mulder came into the kitchen. "What are you looking for?" He'd brought their glasses with them, which he put on the counter by the sink.

"Well, after all that protein, I need something--ah, here we are." Alex withdrew a half-empty bottle of red wine. He shrugged. "I don't want to keep knocking back brandies, you know?" He picked up a clean glass from the drainer and poured a small amount.

He could feel Mulder's eyes roving over him, taking in his still-hard cock--and his nonchalance despite the self-conscious tension between them.

"Was it good for you?" Mulder drawled.

Alex tipped the glass back, draining it, enjoying the way the chill wine followed Mulder's come nicely, smoothly, down his throat, chasing the slightly bitter aftertaste. "It's certainly not something I do a lot," he said, vaguely.

Mulder's eyes flicked down to his erection and back up again, and then blinked. "Are you expecting the same in return?"

Alex frowned slightly. "Are you offering?"

Mulder folded his arms in front of him, then unfolded them, as if aware that it made him look defensive.

Too late, Alex thought, his eyes narrowing. He turned away and put the wine back in the fridge, put the empty glass next to the others and took a deep breath. "Mulder, there's no need to analyze it to death."

"I'm not," Mulder returned.

Yeah, right, Alex grinned to himself. "Lobster, butter, and Mulder," he said softly, admiringly.

Mulder exhaled. "Look, I don't know what you expect but-"

"I said, there's no need to analyze it to death. No guilt-trips, no head-trips, no excuses. And no strings," Alex added, watching Mulder closely.

But Mulder seemed to accept this for the time being. He relaxed slightly. "It WAS a present for yourself, too--wasn't it?" He wasn't asking.

Alex nodded. "Yeah, I suppose."

Mulder gave him a look. "You suppose?"

Alex let out a snicker. "Mulder, give it a rest. Why are you trying to read so much into this?"

Mulder's eyes shifted, and he looked away, out the dark kitchen window at the snow piling on the sill outside. "I'm not. I'm trying to figure out why."

Right on cue. Good old Mulder-brain, whirring away, mulling over all the angles, the possibilities...

Shit. Mulder was good at that. He would figure it all out eventually; coming up with rare and precious theories that even Alex in his wildest imaginings couldn't have dreamed up to explain 'why'.

So, he played it dumb. "Why what, Mulder? What's to understand? You just got a blow-job. Enjoy it and move on. I know you rarely get them, hence my gift to you. Why not just take it at face value?"

Mulder bit his lower lip. He sighed. "Because nothing IS face value, with you. There's always some other agenda, some game afoot."

"Thanks very much," Alex snorted. "Shall we adjourn back to the living room, or do you want to camp in here and plan Christmas dinner for tomorrow?" It was an oblique reminder that he was here for the next few days, at the very least.

Mulder passed a shaky hand through his hair. He swallowed and replied, resignedly, "Okay. We're having salmon. I think there's enough for both of us. You know, I hadn't planned on having a guest."

Alex shrugged. "Don't worry; I won't eat you out of house and home." He preceded Mulder back to the living room, sat down on the couch and put his feet up. His erection had subsided briefly, but he hoped Mulder wouldn't start talking about it again, or he was going to have a very long night.

In fact, it was getting late. That's when he realized he would be sleeping on the couch. There was only the one bedroom in this cottage. Now why couldn't Mulder have picked a larger house... One with enough room for at least ONE visitor-

Of course, he realized, on the heels of that thought, Mulder really had not planned for visitors, and if he brought anyone back, they'd have been staying with him in his bed...

That thought made him jealous and testy and he put it from his mind. Here I sit and here I stay, he thought resolutely. No way Mulder is getting rid of me now. We've crossed the line and even if he doesn't have the balls to see this through, I do.

Mulder slowly sat down on his side of the sofa.

Curious, Alex asked, "Mulder, why don't you have a Christmas tree?"

Mulder shrugged, halfheartedly. "Didn't need one. I don't usually celebrate holidays. I don't see the point. It's either an excuse for families to celebrate their togetherness, or a religious event. I don't have a family and I don't follow any spiritual traditions. Besides," he continued a little more morosely, "it reminds me of Sam."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, reflectively. "I've never had time, family or religion..."

Mulder regarded him. Then yawned, expansively.

Alex snickered, unable to help it. "Big day?"

"You know it." Mulder looked away. "Alex, you're welcome to stay but I'm afraid all I have to offer is this couch."

Alex nodded. "I know. Don't worry, I'm fine with that."

"I'll get you a blanket."

"Thanks."

There were a few moments of awkward silence and then Alex yawned, himself. "Contagious," he murmured.

He felt content, entirely satisfied with how the night had turned out and very pleased with the results of his dinner with Mulder. And at least he had a chance to work something out with him. He was almost afraid to question it or think about it too much, for fear that Mulder might change his mind.

Mulder yawned again. "Well, I'm gonna hit the hay. There's more wood, if the fire dies down."

"Thanks."

Mulder got up slowly, padded off out of sight and returned a few minutes later with a thick thermal blanket.

Alex took it, looking up at Mulder. "Thanks," he said again.

"Sleep well," Mulder said, turning to leave.

"Good night." Wondering, Alex watched him go upstairs.

Part of him wanted to follow him but the wary side warned against taking too many liberties with Mulder's hospitality. He sighed and settled into the couch, enjoying the fact that the cottage was out in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of the world, quiet.

Very quiet. The only noise he could hear in fact was the distant blowing of the wind as it gusted against the roof and danced around the gables. There would indeed be drifts outside come the morrow and he smiled to himself, knowing that they wouldn't be able to travel anywhere. For better or for worse, Mulder was stuck with him now.

The firelight flickered, casting comforting shadows against the walls of the living room. Alex was aware of enjoying being here purely in a material sense; the safety and security of the warm interior contrasting with the cold blizzard outside gave him a glow inside that he'd not felt since... jesus, it had been years.

He sighed happily, letting his head fall back against the couch. He allowed his eyes to close, breathing in the smell of brandy and firewood. There was a faint background scent of mildew--probably from the wood inside the cottage's walls... It actually didn't detract from the charm of the place but lent it a quaint air.

The problem that he faced was not Mulder's considerably important 'breakthrough' but the chip on Mulder's shoulder concerning the past. Alex was tired of having to defend his actions. From any number of possible points of view, he still couldn't find a chink through Mulder's ironclad belief system that insisted that he, Alex Krycek, was the Devil. It was getting tiresome--the endless intellectual fights to the death in the arena of Mulder's 'conscience'. The Ivy League morality set, versus the modern ronin warrior.

He slipped into sleep while mulling over the few choices he had left to explore in his attempt to 'help' Mulder whilst simultaneously healing the rift between them for once and for all. Rift? He chuckled briefly; gaping chasm, rather! Oh well. At least he let me blow him...

*

You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby  
Because you are so heartbroken  
You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby  
Before the dawn of separation  
You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby  
Show me the way back

Mulder was standing in the living room of his father's house in Martha's Vineyard. Bill Mulder stood to one side, shaking his head with a disapproving expression on his face.

"Dad?"

His father advanced on him, standing too close, staring into his son's face. "I'm so disappointed in you, Fox. Consorting with a felon. The same man who killed me--how could you?"

Stiffly, Mulder didn't answer, realizing immediately that his father was dead, it was just a dream... but he couldn't wake up. The same old cycle of guilt and shame, followed by the despair of never having his father's approval or understanding. The memory of it overwhelmed him, the bitter older man's heaping of guilt onto him--and secret resentment of his son's integrity and brilliance... A part of him KNEW that it was just a figment of his own inability to cope with what had happened, but it was too horrifying to have to face his father again like this. WHY couldn't he ever have anything NICE to say to him?

Mulder knew instinctively that he had to do something, anything, to stop this; to halt his father's shade, to stop him from haunting his subconscious.

In his hand was a gun. He held it up, for the first time feeling not a whit of hesitation but instead a tremendous charge of power and control. "Get out of my life," he said, calmly, and pulled the trigger. He watched with a sense of relief as his father looked surprised and fell backwards, almost in slow motion. Power and release flooded over him. Then guilt at feeling so relieved that his father was dead. That he had shot him.

Trying to turn away and find his way out of the house, out of this sickening dream, he tried to cry out but was unable to. He was choking, suffocating and he couldn't breathe. Paralyzed, he thrashed helplessly, trying to shout.

He woke up with a start, his limbs flailing, feeling someone holding him down.

"Mulder... Mulder! It's just a dream--wake up!"

He recognized Krycek's voice. Gasping for breath, choking, shivering and cold... Feeling sweat pouring clammily from him, he blinked in the darkness. Blessed fucking darkness of the bedroom--thank GOD. Never again was he going to drink before bed, never.

Krycek's body was pressed in against his, and Alex's arm was around him. "Mulder? You okay?"

The horror of what he'd just done in the dream flooded over him and he clung to Alex, gulping breaths around the tears that spilled unbidden from his eyes.

Silent sobs wracked him and all he could do was hold on to Alex, wishing to God that he could stop dreaming about his father, his sister, his mother... Even as the rational part of his mind knew with crystal clarity that this was the exact outcome he'd invited by choosing to face the trauma of his past that he'd weathered so bravely for so long.

Alex didn't say anything more, just waited patiently, letting him cry into his t-shirt, soaking it.

Finally, Mulder felt the grief lift its hard claws from around his heart and the tears stopped flowing. Sniffing, he murmured against Alex's warm chest, "Thank you."

Gently, Alex lifted his hand and smoothed Mulder's forehead, running his fingers through his hair. "Hey, it's alright. I get nightmares all the time. It's all part of letting it go, working it out."

"I know that," Mulder said, a little testily. "I just-" He stopped, feeling another surge of dread and sadness go over him. He held onto Alex tighter.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Alex asked, quietly.

He shook his head. Then said, "My father again. Blaming ME for his fucking mistakes, his decisions. I had a gun and I killed him. I shot him. And... I wanted to. I enjoyed it." He squeezed his eyes shut in the darkness and rested in the embrace and comfort of the very same man who had -

A tremor seized Mulder and he tensed in Alex's hold.

The same thing must have occurred to Alex, because he whispered, "I'm sorry, Mulder. It doesn't help, I know, and it won't bring him back. But I'm sorry."

Mulder shook his head. "No. It's not that; it's not you, Alex. I think the reason I always hated you was because I never had the chance to have his forgiveness--and yet I know that the bastard would never have given it to me. I hated you for not having a problem in killing him. It didn't touch you. You did what I couldn't do without forever carrying the guilt of killing him. And there is no good reason I can think of, to thank you for it, yet..."

Alex exhaled. "Mulder, he made his own choices. He resented you, for so many reasons."

"I KNOW that, but I still loved him. I don't hate him, even now--even though he was the one who threw Samantha to the wolves. He sealed her fate. I think... I think that the Smoking Man influenced his decision."

Alex snorted. "Believe it. You were that black-lunged bastard's 'hope' for the project. They were waiting for you from the beginning--you didn't have a chance. They were expecting you to take the reins after they could no longer hold them."

Slowly, Mulder said, "So, really, Dad was upset that I had shown the integrity and strength of character that he hadn't. I showed him up for what he was, even then."

"Exactly. Mulder, you were just a kid! And your mother--"

"Don't. I don't want to talk about her, not with all this. Not right now. That's a separate issue."

Alex backed off. "Okay. Sure. Listen, you want to get up? Go downstairs?"

"No." He nestled in against Alex, enjoying the unfamiliar but warm security of Krycek's presence. This was different, non-sexual, non-threatening... He breathed easier, allowing himself to relax into him, letting the quiet gesture of Alex's hand still silently and unobtrusively stroking his hair to lull him into contentment. Then it occurred to him--he must have been thrashing about making noise, if Alex had heard it all the way from downstairs. Next, it came to him that Alex might return back down to the couch. He cleared his throat, the suggestion sounding slightly dangerous in the quiet, close darkness. "Stay with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Alex promised, a little huskily, although Mulder could hear the promise in his voice.

He tightened his own hold on Alex in response, and then sighed.

After a while, Alex licked his lips and said, "Uh, Mulder? Want to turn over? I'm getting pins and needles in this position. I need to move."

Mulder obediently rolled left, to face the other side away from Alex. This time, Alex got up, slid between the covers to join him in the bed and put his arm around him, moving up against Mulder once more, fitting snug against his body.

Wow. Spooning--Mulder hadn't done this in a long while, let alone be on the receiving end, on the inside of the spoon position... It was novel and nice. Very nice indeed. Alex was wearing just shorts and a t-shirt and Alex's legs supported the backs of Mulder's thighs.

Alex had angled his hips away from him and Mulder's eyes opened in the dark. He was suddenly very aware of their position, the proximity of Alex to him in a BED... and the near-certainty of Alex's arousal. The man had always desired him, had been unable to ever keep it a secret, and now Mulder was left with the unmistakable impression that in spite of this fact, Alex was doing the honorable thing by not forcing the issue. He briefly wondered if Alex was expecting him to make a move.

Under the circumstances, probably not. Mulder grinned in the darkness.

Why not? Comfort sex, more than just a blow-job and less easy to forget but surely understandable when one examined the circumstances more closely. Especially the way that Alex was breathing, his arm around Mulder keeping him tucked in tight and close to him, his breath against the back of Mulder's neck.

Mulder could feel the tension even as Alex struggled to remain calm. He could feel it in the tense way that Alex was holding him. He smiled, with a sense of falling into something that they both wanted. He let out a breath, and a murmur of contentment, while snuggling backwards even closer, this time deliberately shifting his ass back against Alex.

There was no mistaking Alex's condition. Alex tightened his hold further and sucked in a breath, then held it. Mulder found himself holding his own breath out of sheer sympathy. Waiting for Alex to breathe again, it came as a slight shock when Alex said in his ear, "Are you trying to get yourself fucked? Because if you want it, you're going the right way about it." Alex's tone was almost accusatory, as if reminding Mulder that if he wanted this, it was HIS decision...

Which was partly true. Oh, the hell with it. He answered by moving back again, this time rubbing his entire body back against Alex, Alex's erection trapped between his stomach and Mulder's crack, burning him through the thin cloth of his shorts. He was rewarded with Alex's groan.

"Mulder, don't be a pricktease."

He cleared his throat. "How much more obvious do I have to be?" he asked.

Alex inhaled. Then deliberately rubbed his cock along the length of Mulder's crack. "Mulderrrr," he said, with a lilting note of warning.

Mulder closed his eyes. "Do it," he said, reaching around behind him and pulling his shorts down, exposing his bare ass to the slide of Alex's silky cock against his skin.

Alex's grip around him hardened, and Mulder could feel the barely restrained tension rippling through Alex as he held him against his body. Then Alex's lips began to mouth the back of his neck, leaving a trail of wet flames in their wake. "Want you," Alex breathed. "So much."

Mulder shivered from the heat and the lightheaded arousal that swept over him. He bit his lip and reached around behind him to tug at Alex's shorts--but discovered he'd pulled them down.

Alex began to bite and lick at Mulder's neck and shoulder, as his hand trailed over Mulder's chest, finding one of his nipples and caressing it with rough fingers.

"Hang on," Alex said, a little breathlessly, pulling his hand away. Mulder heard him flailing about with the pockets of his jeans, which lay by the bedside, the sound of a tube being squeezed and then heard the unmistakable sound of Alex's hand fisting his own cock. Then Alex reached around him again.

The delicious heat and satin comfort of Alex's body holding him close was nearly perfect. Mulder realized now that it would be so easy to let this happen. He rubbed his ass against the brand of Alex's weighty cock. The head of Alex's erection was leaving a trail of pre-ejaculate on his skin and it didn't take very much maneuvering for either of them for Alex's slickened cock to find its way to Mulder's hole.

His face flaming, Mulder held still, his right leg lifted slightly beneath the covers. Alex began to push forward slightly, letting the tip of his cock slip into Mulder's tight anus. Rocking gently, over and over, holding him in place, completing the embrace by finally sliding into him with longer, burning thrusts.

Filling him, reducing him to an undulating motion not of his own volition--like a boat caught up in a wave and being borne out to sea. He was trusting Alex not to hurt him, but Alex seemed totally enthralled with their current rhythm and showed no signs of backing out of this act.

It was slow and hot and entirely engulfing. Mulder felt possessed, claimed... the feeling was compounded with the way that Alex was still mouthing the back of his neck, occasionally letting teeth graze his skin. Alex was mounting him, like a tiger with its mate... The thought was so enticing and vital, he gasped and pushed back against Alex's cock, driving it deeper into him.

Alex froze, then matched his movement with a thrust of his hips into him, repeating it and shafting even deeper until Mulder could feel Alex's balls and his dark pubic hair pressed up against his ass.

Alex was as far inside of him as he could go, and he desperately wanted more, it wasn't enough. Mulder whimpered.

With an answering growl, Alex thrust into him again, this time sinking into him harder, with a proprietary hold on him.

The sense of letting go, of being used and taken to another place, swept any other consideration out of Mulder's mind. It was another world, a dark and beautiful place where he could finally stop worrying about all the intellectual considerations and emotional problems that he faced day after day. Even the impressions of his recent nightmare were dashed to pieces in the wake of this searing, burning pleasure that plunged inside of him along with Alex's cock.

Alex's hand was gripping him just above his hip, on his waist.

"Harder, harder," Mulder gasped out, wanting to be fucked, at last, wildly, yearning for it desperately.

With a moan, Alex bucked against him, shoving his hard length deep into Mulder over and over, sending shooting stars streaming up to his brain as Alex rubbed against his prostate repeatedly.

Mulder reached blindly down to grab his cock and began jerking on it, with a familiar motion.

Alex panted against him, "That's it; come, Mulder, you're so fucking gorgeous when you come, oh god -" he broke off, with a whimpering moan. Alex hurriedly let go of his waist and put his hand on Mulder's, wrapping it around him even as Mulder continued to work up and down upon his own dick. It was as if they were both doing it together, and combined with Alex's cock impaling him hard and fast and deep, he finally started to come.

White lightning burst behind his eyes and sparkled there as he trembled as if in the grip of a seizure. Mulder shook with the force of his orgasm, his body shaking against Alex's as he shot hard, again and again. He yelled, his voice joined with Alex's as Alex came inside of his ass, flooding his insides with wet heat.

As he lay there, the tides of pleasure washing through his body and trickling into every part of him, he could feel the tension and the pain receding, chased away by the heat and the protective intimacy of Alex's body wrapped against his own.

Alex's cock gradually softened and he began to pull out of Mulder. Hastily, Mulder said, 'No, no! Just... just stay there. Don't move. I want to keep you inside of me."

Alex gave a heartfelt groan, resting his forehead against Mulder's hair. "Mulder, oh Mulder," he said.

Mulder shifted, settling himself back into Alex like a cat seeking the right position. He gave a huge sigh, loving the sensation of satiation and completion.

Alex's hand was moving on him again, over his leg, up along his hip, sliding around to hold him. Alex's breathing was still unsteady.

"Stay with me here, tonight," Mulder said.

Alex's arm tightened around him. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised, lifting his head to place a kiss on Mulder's ear, and another on his cheek before he lay back down.

Comfort and warmth, at last. Mulder felt tired but now he didn't dread falling asleep. Alex was holding him. He was all around him, surrounding him, against him, even inside of him...

We should have fucked years ago, he suddenly thought. And there was always tomorrow. For a first time, it had been so sweet and hot. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Gotta do that again. And again, he thought.

Maybe letting Alex stick around here was far more beneficial than he'd supposed. He drifted back into dreams, this time with the relief and support of knowing that if he awoke, Alex would be there.

*

* * *

ADDENDUM: Black Coffee, one of the scenes here is for you! I'm pretty sure you'll know which one it is. HEE! Merry Slashy Holidays to you, m'dear! ;-)  
REFERENCES: (a) It is an historical fact that the McClellan Senatorial Panel oversaw the mafia hearings in 1959.  
(b) It is also a fact that the actor who plays William Mulder, Fox's father in the X-Files Series, one Mr. Peter Donat, also played one of the judges on that panel, a Mr. Questadt, in a fictitious representation of those very hearings in the film The Godfather--1974.  
(c) In an even more weird coincidence, the actor Peter Donat was BORN in Nova Scotia in 1928! LOL! I was unaware of any of these facts when I began writing this story. [g]

* * *

Touch My Mind - Chapter Two  
by Jami Wilsen

I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La  
I run through the grass  
I run over the stones  
Down to the sea  
Show me the way back, honey  
I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La  
I run through the grass  
I run over the stones  
Show me the way back... to the sea

Alex awoke to the sound of birds outside the window. The white light of day seeped through the closed curtains.

He sniffed and opened bleary eyes. Mulder was lying beside him, still asleep. There were a scant four inches between them and without thinking, Alex raised his hand to touch Mulder's hair. He stopped himself, his fingers hovering above the soft strands, not wanting to wake Mulder. Alex sighed and closed his eyes again, wishing he could fall back asleep. But already the doubts rose and fell in his mind as if in a turbulent sea.

If only.

If only he could pretend that this was the final stop--for both of them. That he was living here with Mulder, away from the bustle and harsh life of each passing day, trying with every tomorrow to pretend that life would... somehow improve. If only he could take shelter in the warmth of Mulder's passionate mind and slender form. He bit his lower lip, wishing he could run his hand down Mulder's back, sidle up to the man once more and repeat last night's unprecedented, unforeseen activity...

He opened his eyes and stared back up at the ceiling. The room was a pale blue, with very few personal effects of Mulder's to be found. It was almost as impersonal as a motel room. A dark rosewood frame surrounded a floral Monet on the opposite wall, beside an up-lighting wall lamp.

There was a musky but indefinably sweet scent and he realized it was Mulder's own odor. He leaned close to breathe in the smell of Mulder's hair. FUCK. It was so good, so delicious, pure Mulder aroma straight from the source. It made his eyes half-close and he felt delirious from it, a secret smile curving his lips. He let the scent of him fill his nostrils and lay back, delighting in the quiet theft of the act.

Fate, the bitch, would probably have him awake from this cozy scene to find himself alone in some cold hell of a hotel, Alex thought. Or worse, Mulder would wake up and then shoot him when he realized Alex had taken advantage of his emotional distress in the night. Glumly, Alex knew that the latter was probably the most likely, with either gun or fists, even considering the fact that Mulder had let Alex blow him several hours previously.

He lifted his head and squinted at the bedside alarm clock. It wasn't even seven yet. He sighed and let his head drop back to the pillow.

Turning his head once more to admire Mulder sleeping, he saw that Mulder's bare shoulders and back were getting cold, the gooseflesh already rising on his skin. He had to fight to suppress the instantaneous, automatic reaction to move in and wrap himself around Mulder.

To be so close now and yet so far. The pain that scraped through his insides was somehow more raw and keen, leaving him hungry for an intimacy that was sheer folly to even dream of. Mulder would hardly share his longing for companionship and comfort. In truth, what he'd offered Mulder the day before had been everything he himself wished for. Including the blow-job, he thought with a self-directed sneer.

And he hadn't fooled Mulder. Not for one second.

He considered the information that he'd brought as his security, should Mulder have refused to see him. In the wake of Mulder's nightmare and obvious torment over his dead father, Alex was seriously contemplating taking the photos and giving them to the gulls to squabble over in the waves of the Bay of Fundy. Mulder was in no shape for any disclosure of the nature that Alex had brought.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Mulder was an emotional wasteland, a scarred remnant of a previous era's pompous and presumptuous efforts to create a sacrificial lamb out of their 'heir'. We make a matching pair, he thought. The sheep and the scapegoat. Then he grinned fiercely. Mulder always was the black sheep, no matter what environment he found himself in: his family, the F.B.I, the Consortium... The human race, even. They both were. Outcasts ought to stick together. Then Alex snorted. Somehow, he knew that trying to convince Mulder of THAT was problematic at best.

Mulder continued to sleep, his breathing shallow, even and unchanged. Alex couldn't bear it any longer. Either he should cut his losses and run at this point, or go all the way and press the point home. Of course, he wanted to press more than that, ALL the way home, hot and hard as he had not long before they fell asleep--with Mulder in his arms. Somehow, it felt crass to try to do it now. Mulder may have acted like a willing slut after a good cry and some emotional venting in the dark; it didn't necessarily mean that he'd be overjoyed to wake and find Alex fucking him again while he slept. In the cold light of the morning after. Shit.

Silently and carefully, he slipped out of the bed. Locating his clothes, he gathered up his t-shirt and shorts, then his jeans. He made it to the door, his hand on the doorknob, when Mulder's sleep-roughened voice reached him.

"This is familiar. Running out on me again, Krycek?"

Alex straightened, feeling absurdly vulnerable standing there nude by the door, his clothes draped over his shoulder. Deciding to ignore the words as they bit deep, too deep to attend to without making a scene, he turned to regard Mulder in the dim bedroom. "I need a shower. And coffee. And some breakfast. I can make us something while you shower, if you'd like."

Mulder regarded him. Finally, he nodded. "It's okay. I'll put the coffee on while you have yours."

Alex looked down, then took a breath, nodded and left the room, seeking the safety of the bathroom.

Shit, shit! He wasn't in any kind of shape for this. He was on the verge of breaking down and begging Mulder to let him--let him...

Let him WHAT?

Stay? Go? Go with him when he left?

He twisted the shower on with a vicious movement. Scowling, he realized his bag was still downstairs. Sighing, he pulled on his t-shirt and shorts and went downstairs to get his razor.

Mulder was in the kitchen, rinsing out the coffee machine and putting a new filter in the holder. Alex quickly got his things and went back up, taking the stairs two at a time.

The bathroom was steamy, the water having reached a warm enough temperature to get under while he'd been downstairs. He stepped into the shower and began to wash himself up, intending at first to get it done fast but somehow the laid-back atmosphere and silence of their remote location influenced him. Alex found himself taking a few stolen moments to luxuriate in the pure sensuality of enjoying the warm water and privacy.

By the time he was finished, dressed and going back downstairs to rejoin Mulder, he had regained the spring in his step and his confidence in the potential of the day. Putting his things away in the bag, he heard Mulder call from the kitchen.

"Eggs? Toast?"

He got up and went into the kitchen. "Mm. You look positively domestic, Mulder," he grinned, as Mulder turned to frown at him.

"I may look the part but I assure you, I'm not domesticated, Alex."

"Could've fooled me. Uh, can I have those just as they are? I like them a little bit runny in the middle." Alex picked up one of the plates laden with toast and held it out. Mulder scraped the eggs out of the pan with the spatula and slid them onto Alex's plate.

Sitting at the little wooden kitchen table, Alex turned to regard him. "Aren't you going to shower?"

"When we're done. I don't really want to eat the eggs cold."

The air was thick with all things they weren't saying and Alex found himself examining the rather awkward silence with a cautious air. He didn't want to tempt that bitch, Fate, by breaking it first. Besides, if he knew Mulder...

He picked up one of the pieces of toast and began to take large bites out of it, washing them down with gulps of coffee.

Mulder sat down with his own plate. Staring across at Alex, he asked, "So, what's on the agenda today?"

Right on time. Alex sighed. Pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the carton, he replied, "I don't know. I'm kind of taking each day at a time, you know? It's called improvisation."

Mulder thoughtfully chewed his toast, watching Alex eat.

Mulder continued to watch and it began to grate on Alex's nerves. Especially as Mulder just continued to LOOK at him, without even saying anything. Finally, Alex couldn't stand it any longer and threw down his fork. "What do you want from me?" he demanded.

Mulder stared at him innocently. "Nothing, why?"

Alex laughed in disbelief, shaking his head. "I can't eat with you staring at me like this."

"How very Freudian of you," Mulder replied, coolly. "There's nothing much else in here to look at. And you're sitting right across from me. But if you like, we could eat in separate rooms." Mulder wasn't even looking at him, Alex realized, but at his hair.

Alex sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. "Mulder," he said, tiredly, "what are you looking at?"

Mulder grinned, a little shamefacedly, and said, "Well, actually, now that you mention it, your hair's wet and it's sort of... sticking up and...it looks cute."

Alex stared back at him. "Cute," he repeated. Then raked his hand through his hair, straightening it--or so he hoped.

Unfortunately, the self-conscious gesture only made Mulder grin wider before gesturing with his fork at the back door. "It snowed heavily all last night. We're blocked in," he declared, as if making a statement.

He probably blames me for this, Alex thought. "There's no need to get paranoid about it," Alex replied, grumpily. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

Mulder stared at him once more. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you always a bitch in the morning?"

Alex exhaled. Then he lifted his chin defiantly, matching Mulder's gaze. "I suppose you think that I asked Santa for all this bad weather, so that I could have a chance to have my wicked way with you."

Mulder shrugged. "I believe in aliens and I'm a paranoid conspiracy hound. I also believe in the possibility of World Peace and goodwill for all. So, what's odd about adding Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy to the list?" But his tone had taken a self-mocking turn.

Shit, Alex thought, darkly. Mulder was right--why was he so tense and self-defensive?

He was screwing himself out of his only chance to make things right, at long last. He licked his lips and took refuge in his coffee.

But Mulder had taken on a melancholy expression and now looked... morning-tired and sad. It wasn't a full pout, but he looked morbid enough to tug at Alex's heartstrings.

"Look, Mulder, I wasn't--I mean, I didn't come here to try to--last night--" he stumbled.

Mulder was nodding and interrupted him. "I know you didn't. I think you're just as surprised as I am, at what happened. But it isn't the end of the world and it doesn't mean that we can't look each other in the eye. Right?" Indeed, Mulder was looking him full in the face.

Careful to look Mulder in the eye himself as he replied, Alex tried to stagger towards some kind of understanding between them. "Agreed. I never thought we'd get that far. It wasn't my intention. Really. I know," he laughed suddenly, looking down at his plate, "I know that might be hard to believe after--you know--my Christmas present last night. But..."

Wryly, Mulder said, "Hell, I figure I owed it to you, anyway. I never did return the favor."

Quietly, Alex pointed out, "I wasn't expecting you to."

"I know." Mulder's reply was just as quiet.

They both returned to finishing their breakfast. In the less awkward silence, Alex found his thoughts still racing, however. Did this mean Mulder would consider it over and done? Finished? Never to be discussed again? And were any future acts between them out of the question?

A part of him knew that it was far too soon to tell and that in fact, if he wanted to continue seducing Mulder into falling into these encounters with him, all he had to do was keep playing this the way he'd begun. Another part of him feared going too far and losing what ground he'd gained, pushing Mulder past his limits and causing the man to snap once more--as he had so many times before.

And just what DID he want in the end? What was he trying to accomplish for himself, beyond the promise of his friendship to Mulder in Mulder's time of need?

A pang went through him as he realized that in all likelihood what he wanted didn't converge with Mulder's ideas of the future. With a sickening lurch, he knew that there was very little chance that he'd convince Mulder it was a good idea to spend much more time with him.

Mulder probably thought that his nightmare the night before represented his finally having dealt with the issues plaguing him and that he no longer needed Alex's questionable help in coping with them.

Mulder stood up, draining his coffee cup. "I'll take that shower. Do you need a hand clearing up, or are you okay with all this?"

Alex nodded, absently. "Sure. I'll be fine. Go on."

Mulder left the room and went upstairs. Alex heard the bathroom door close and the water start running again.

Alex closed his eyes, unable to help the images from playing out behind his lids, of Mulder standing flushed and aroused, naked under the hot spray, soaping his body...

He wondered if Mulder's ass hurt at all from the unusual attention it had received the night before. Alex shook his head, stood up and started clearing the table.

He carefully washed the dishes, setting them in the drainer to drip-dry, angrily cursing himself for wishful thinking. This entire scene was incredibly stupid, emotionally driven and laden with mines that could easily blow up in his face with just one wrong step into any subject that might set Mulder off.

The man's volatile temper had seen Alex at the receiving end too many times previously for him to ignore Mulder's problem with his anger management. And where Mulder had sometimes shown great sensitivity, understanding and compassion towards some people, for some strange reason it was usually the opposite in Alex's case. Mulder seemed bent on thinking Alex always had some nefarious purpose where he was concerned.

Bitterly, Alex realized he'd cornered himself into his own private hell. Trapped in a small, confined space with the man of his dreams for the duration of the holidays. And it didn't matter how many times he got to have sex with him--he'd never have what he wanted.

He knew, he just KNEW, that Mulder would end up turning a cold shoulder to him. There was no way Mulder would ever--

Unable to stand the suddenly claustrophobic clutter of the kitchen, in fact the entire cottage, Alex went to the front door and put on his boots and his jacket, and then stepped outside for some air before he broke down where Mulder would see. Mulder would see and then ask probing, interrogative questions of him until he broke further, finally losing all credibility or composure.

*

With honor be it spoken  
To understand this light that we carry  
And let it light your way  
Of course, you know, I generally take it  
Well I make accommodations for you  
And consider this  
You used to be my love  
I make excuses for you

Mulder went downstairs, adjusting his collar under the thick sweater. He checked the fireplace and noticed that he needed to get some more firewood. Going to the kitchen, he saw that Alex had left the dishes to dry and was nowhere to be seen. He called out, "Alex?"

A quick check of the cottage's interior revealed that Alex was gone. Then he saw Alex's jacket and boots were missing. But his bag was still there. Relief quickly followed on the heels of Mulder's fear.

Mulder stopped short. He wasn't afraid of Krycek leaving, was he? Hm. He realized that he was, indeed. After all, Krycek always left. In fact everyone usually did, whether of their own intent or not. And Krycek HAD betrayed him in the outset.

But putting himself in Alex's shoes, Mulder suddenly understood that Alex was probably aware of this. No doubt Alex was also afraid that he'd simply kick him out--literally into the cold.

Mulder stood in indecision, chewing his lower lip, wondering what the best course of action was.

First things first. The fireplace. He donned his gloves, his hat, coat and then his boots and went out the back door, behind the cottage. There was the ax, in the tree-stump, and the logs in the shed. He chopped enough for two armfuls and then carried it all through into the living room. By the time he was finished, he was sweating again. He got the fire going nicely and then went back outside, through the front door this time.

Alex's tracks were easy to follow in the fresh, deep snow. He followed them all the way down to the dunes, back to the water's edge. They led along the snow-covered beach and the wet rocks and pebbles, and then went back up into the dunes again, behind the cottage, into the forest.

He continued onwards amidst the trees. Alex had circled around behind the cottage.

Frowning down at where Alex had obviously stopped, he looked up and then chuckled to himself. Alex had been standing in the perfect vantage point to watch Mulder chopping wood. He'd probably been standing there watching the entire time that Mulder had been outside.

With a wry smile, Mulder followed the tracks around. They deviated once he neared the driveway and continued off along the tree line before disappearing into the woods once more.

Robins chattered above him in the treetops and from tangled bushes covered with snow, sending small snowfalls cascading down like tiny avalanches above. There was no sunlight but the entire forest was illuminated from the glare of the daylight off the snow. The air was cold, and the new fallen snow was crisp and white. He leaned over to taste the snow on one of the branches near him. The sharply cold crystals melted instantly on his tongue, some of them half-melting from his breath even before they reached his mouth.

Up ahead, not very far away, he saw Krycek through the bare trees, his dark coat and hair easily visible against the white of the surrounding snow that covered everything.

His fingers were starting to tingle already from the cold but he pressed onward, trying to catch up with Krycek.

Krycek stopped and turned to see Mulder as he approached. Mulder grinned at him. "We got a white Christmas, after all," he said, cheerfully.

Krycek gave a noncommittal, small smile and turned back to regard the view through the trees. The bushes and evergreens were thickly encrusted with snow but the leafless trees were stark against the monochrome forest.

Going to stand beside him, Mulder clapped his gloves together and wriggled his freezing toes. "It's colder out here than it looks," he remarked.

When Krycek didn't respond, Mulder looked up at him, peering into his face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder." The dry reply didn't exactly invite further inquiry.

"Fine," Mulder muttered. He stood there, wondering why Krycek was having a hissy fit now, of all times. A-ha... regrets. That was it. "Having second thoughts? Bit off more than you could chew?"

A hard edge to his voice, Alex replied, "My bite's worse than your bark."

Mulder made a visible wince. "That doesn't really encourage me to let you have a repeat performance."

Alex snorted. "As if you care."

"What's that supposed to mean?" An equally hard note entered Mulder's voice now. "Don't tell me you're about to profess your deep disappointment that I haven't declared my undying love to you. Or that I'm not down on my knees here in the snow, begging you to drag me back up to the bedroom and fuck me until I die."

Alex gave him a look askance. "No, I'd say you've made it pretty clear that you aren't interested... Fox." The last was stated with an over-familiarity and a slight dig that Mulder found needling...

And realized the danger of them spiraling down into another confrontation. He sighed. "May I ask you something?"

A look of uncertainty crossed Alex's face. "Sure," he said, doubtfully.

"Why do you always take this so seriously? Why do you care? I mean, why should you give a damn if I'm out here alone? Why bother to come upstairs when I'm having nightmares? Why?" Mulder found himself pleading for an honest answer, knowing that he all of a sudden understood perfectly--and knew the answer already, and that there was no way in hell that Alex would ever be able to tell him because he wasn't really sure himself.

Alex turned away, regarding the trees surrounding them, tilting his head back to look at the treetops that formed an arch over their heads. Finally, he swallowed. "If you haven't figured it out by now, there's no use in me trying to explain it to you, is there?"

THAT, Mulder realized, was about as much positive confirmation as he'd ever hope to get on this subject. He nodded and then placed a glove on Alex's right shoulder, his arm going around him companionably. "You're right. It nearly insults my intelligence--and yours. So, how would you feel about an old fashioned snow-ball fight?"

Alex shook his head. "Forget it. It would turn into something else, very quickly."

Mulder squeezed him, once, with a grin. "Is that a threat, or a promise?"

Stiffly, Alex said in an angry tone, "Jesus--can't you just--just--"

Mulder let his arm fall away and he wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself through the thick coat. He could no longer feel his toes. Humbly, he said, "Thank you for coming out here, to be with me. Thank you for being here for me when no-one else would, or could. Thank you for caring, and for showing me kindness and love at times when I've been alone. I'll admit I was wrong about you. You aren't here to hurt me, not now. I'm sorry that I've been... cold, yesterday... and this morning. I believe you. No-one is that heartless." He stopped, hoping he hadn't gone too far. "I'm willing to accept you at face value. You're welcome to stay, if you want."

After a few moments where Mulder could actually hear his heart beating in his ears, Krycek replied, cautiously, "A bit late if you said I wasn't... There isn't anywhere to go. You're kind of stuck with me, now."

Mulder pressed him, however, needing the reassurance that he wasn't about to hare off again. "So, you'll stay?"

"If you want."

"I do." A chill breeze danced around their legs, blowing up loose snowflakes and whirling them up to fall like dust. "Come on, let's go back inside. I'm getting frostbite." Mulder stepped around him, took him by the elbow and urged him to follow him back to the cottage.

Krycek was silent and lagging behind him, all the way back, even once they got inside the front door and started stripping off their coats and boots. When Mulder went into the kitchen to make more coffee, Krycek simply sat down on one end of the couch and stared off into space.

Shaking his head, Mulder realized that, really, they were both a couple of burned-out basket-cases. It had been sheer folly on Krycek's part to imagine that he was in any kind of shape to handle Mulder's breakdown... or to offer solid support. The best they could hope for, either of them, was to provide mutual comfort as they tried to deal with the stress of their combined past. With resignation, Mulder took two full mugs of coffee back out to the living room.

Handing one carefully to Krycek, he noticed that there was a brown envelope sitting on the low coffee table. Sipping from his mug, he asked, "What's that?"

"Your information," Krycek replied, dully.

Cut to the quick, Mulder demanded, "What, you think I said that outside just to get information from you? Cooperation?"

Krycek shook his head. "No, I believe you meant every word. That's why I'm giving this to you now... I want to put all my cards on the table." He looked up at Mulder with a look of resignation. "The truth, Mulder--honesty and integrity--I don't want this to bite me in the ass later, once we've made our peace here. I don't want you turning around later and claiming that I withheld this, or anything else, from you."

Lifting his brows, Mulder sat down on the other end of the couch. "Fair enough." He shot Krycek a look, noting the man's downcast expression and slumped position. "Uh, sorry about that. I didn't mean to jump on you about it..."

"Forget it. Just open the envelope."

"Damn it, Alex! Give me a little credit here," he said, reaching forward and picking it up. "I'm trying."

"I know you are. Now just--open it." Alex sounded exasperated.

With a sigh, Mulder opened it and took out several 8x10 black and white photographs.

They were all taken from the same angle, it appeared to be a legal panel, and the subjects appeared to be a number of judges presiding at a hearing.

Frowning at the photos, he tried to ascertain the significance of them, then felt his stomach jump unpleasantly as he recognized his father, much younger, sitting beside the main presiding judge.

Finally, he asked, "What are these of? They had to have been taken around...1960? 65?"

"'59. They're of the McClellan committee hearings. One of those was taken during the hearing of Joe Vallachi, a mafia hitman."

Confused, Mulder asked, "How was Dad involved? Why was he one of the judges presiding over the mafia cases?"

Krycek sighed. "He was in charge of overseeing the operations, ensuring that the FBI cracked down on the mob, and also the CIA's later programs taking care of the Sicilians in their own backyard."

"But that was a service that stood our country well," Mulder began.

"Don't be naïve, Mulder," Krycek said, in a withering tone. "Not this late in the game. Come on. They had to eliminate any possible competition. The Cold War wasn't just about the Project, it was also about Intelligence and the control of the flow of information. The KGB's intelligence operations far exceeded the CIA's, and both the FBI and the CIA had to not only clean up after they started gaining the edge but they also had to make sure that the five families of New York and all the little kingpins throughout America were on the level with them. They couldn't afford to have anyone running any kind of syndicated operation--not in narcotics, which was their main source of funding for all their Black Ops."

Mulder sank back in his seat. "What about the Kennedys?"

Krycek shook his head. "Everyone conveniently believes that it was because J.F. was going to blow the whistle on the UFO cover-up, and on the Hybrid Project. But you KNOW the Kennedys were hardly clean, Mulder. Come on."

Weakly, Mulder asked, "Can you give me a straight answer, please? For once? Why the hell was my father involved? Why was he overseeing the mafia clean-out?"

"Control. It was always about control. It isn't who controls the operations, the little bosses, even the intelligence. It's control of information. And your father wasn't the only one. Nearly all the members of the Consortium had legitimate positions of power and ownership in every resource you can imagine. It wasn't just about the military, politics, or about drugs and money, or dead aliens. It was about running the country--the planet. Mulder, don't tell me you didn't at least partially grasp this?" Krycek sounded pained.

Angrily, Mulder retorted, "Of course. But you're painting a picture that makes William Mulder one of the men responsible for controlling the mafia--that he was the biggest gangster of all."

Krycek hurriedly shook his head. "No, not really. Mulder, the mafia in each country is the one that actually controls the infrastructure AND the corporations. The ports of Mexico, Canada and the lesser-guarded docks are the main import bases for drugs and weapons. Guess who oversees the running of those operations and ensures that they continue without a hitch?"

"The organized crime syndicates, overseen by our beloved patriotic government," sighed Mulder. "So without the 'mafia', we don't have any kind of organized transport of anything in or out of any country, across any border."

Krycek nodded. "Who's running Russia, now? Serbia? The Vatican? Any number of nation states whose government is weak, unstable or nonexistent?"

"The Consortium was. And you took them down," Mulder pointed out. "So you left all the countries of the world open to a new mafia regime, hiding beneath the respectability of politicians and military peacekeepers, corporations and multi-national business. All of them must have scrambled for the new positions when the Syndicate was burned..."

Astonished, Krycek replied, "You're going to blame this on ME?"

"I'm not blaming everything on you. I'm just pointing out that you were the one who successfully arranged with the Rebels to take out all the heads of the Syndicate with one big barbecue roast. Remember?"

Coldly, Krycek sank back into the couch. "I cannot fucking believe this--"

"Don't get upset. I'm not blaming you. I guess, in a way, I'm thanking you. In a weird sort of way, by doing Cancerman's bidding and killing -" Mulder swallowed, "-Dad, you started the job back then. Getting them all roasted at the same place at the same time was just a lucky arrangement. And my father would have been present at that one, anyway. This is what you were leading to, isn't it?"

A different light entered Krycek's eyes. "This is the second time in less than a minute that you've managed to shock me, Mulder."

With a twisted smile, Mulder replied, "You had it coming. You shocked me last night when you climbed into my lap and kissed me. Remember?"

"Not really," Alex admitted. "Maybe I should do it again, just to be sure that I got it right."

Quickly, Mulder said, "Wait... hold on there. Hold that thought. Let me clear up a couple more details, here. If my father was overseeing the clamp-down on the mob-bosses back in the Sixties, exactly what was Cancerman's part in all that?"

Krycek looked back at him, guilelessly. "He killed Kennedy, and eliminated numerous other 'threats'. They didn't understand the concept of creating martyrs back then. They knocked people off left, right and center. It was too easy. They didn't realize that it would haunt them later. He was their best hitman, Mulder. He specialized in wetwork, but he felt under-appreciated and underutilized, particularly because most of them just thought he was a nameless assassin while he was one of the most influential members of the Syndicate. He was one of the MJ-12. I thought you knew all that."

Mulder was nodding. "I thought I did, too. It's just nice to know I was right."

Krycek snorted. "Your three nerd friends there were fed a constant stream of disinformation, just to leak to you the appropriate pieces of truth they wanted you to hear. It may have been the Smoking Bastard who let them give it to you, so that you'd understand his 'position'."

"Okay, uh--I'm not accusing you, I just want to know, okay, Alex? I'm not asking this to accuse you... but," Mulder hesitated, not sure how to say it without starting a fight. "Why didn't you tell me anything like this before? Why couldn't you have come to me before now, and just... told me? Talked to me? I would have listened. Christ, this is the only thing I ever wanted, was for you to tell me the truth! To tell me what the hell was going on!"

"I know. That's why I couldn't. I wanted to, believe me. But you would have followed it up, everything I handed to you, and you probably would have ended up dead. Your immunity only extended so far, you realize. If it hadn't been for your father and the Smoking Bastard, you'd have been killed as a liability to the Project very early on. Probably with your first incursions into their operations once you had been given the X-Files."

"Oh, come on, now," Mulder said. "That's like saying that if I went back in time and killed my grandfather, I would never have existed. Or that if I hadn't been born, things would be different. Of COURSE they'd be different. In fact, if things hadn't turned out the way they did, I would have been taken, not Samantha. Or if--."

Krycek sighed and rubbed his face with his hand, wearily. "Yeah, yeah. But the point I was trying to get to is that regardless of what I did, or how I did it, your father would have been killed by someone that night, whether it was me who pulled the trigger or not... And if I hadn't killed him, the Smoking Bastard wouldn't have made me the scapegoat for that whole DAT fiasco and I wouldn't have ended up in a fucking silo in the dark for fucking DAYS..." Krycek cleared his throat. "And I wouldn't have been conveniently blamed for it all and gotten rid of, and ended up on a personal mission to... Look, Mulder, I was committed by then to a vendetta against the entire Syndicate. If all that hadn't happened, I wouldn't have brought down their pretty little Project around their ears. And your dad would still be dead but the others wouldn't. Can you think of anyone else who would have been in a position or who even possessed the inclination to go up against them? To actively work against them? I got to them because I WAS on the inside."

Mulder's mind was whirling. "I feel sick."

"Tell me about it," Krycek scoffed. "I've felt sick about it for a long time, now. But I didn't want this hanging over us anymore. There's a lot to go over. We're just scratching the surface, and you probably won't want or need to go into it all. I know you're having a hard time, here, that you came here to get away from it all, but I don't--I couldn't just--" he ran dry, coming to a halt and seemingly not able to find the right words any longer.

"Is this a warped kind of confession, or something?" Mulder asked, curious.

Krycek sighed. "I guess it's turned into one. I didn't plan for it to be. I didn't mean to say... what I said. But it's the truth. Whether you want to believe it or not."

Mulder slowly smiled, and it stretched further into a grin. "Alex, thank you. Thank you for finally trusting me, for finally telling me the truth."

Obviously uncomfortable, Krycek threw him a glance and shifted in his seat. "Are you--you mean that? You're not being sarcastic? You actually believe me?"

Mulder nodded, licking his lips and thinking, wondering. "That's a lot for me to digest. The ramifications are... interesting, to say the least. But I believe you. It makes sense."

"Well, good." Krycek looked lost and almost wistful. "You know, once I realized how the world was structured, I didn't want to run it anymore. Once I saw that I'd have to become just as bloody a dictator as any of them, behind the scenes, I kind of lost my stomach for the job."

"More power to you," Mulder remarked.

Krycek stared back at him. "Yeah, except that..." He looked away, out the fogged-up window, and down at the floor.

Mulder didn't want Krycek bailing at this point. It was too crucial an understanding that they had just reached. Gently, he asked, "Alex? What is it? You can tell me. You've given me enough of a framework that I think I can handle it without blaming you, at this point."

Krycek rolled his eyes. "Right. There's still a lot, Mulder."

"So, lay it on me," Mulder said with a grin. "It's Christmas. I don't know which present to thank you for more."

Krycek shot him a closed look. "If I'd known you'd be this easy with just truth and a blow-job, I'd have gone down on you a long time ago."

Mulder nodded. "In my apartment that night, when you came to tell me about Wiekamp."

Krycek blinked and looked away. "Most likely."

Mulder didn't believe it for a second, and probably Krycek didn't either. They were both all too aware that Krycek would never have initiated anything further than that peck on the cheek; not with the blood between them as bad as it was. Mulder asked, "So tell me, Alex: what is it you were going to say? What were you wanting to tell me?"

Krycek looked away again, swallowing.

"It's okay, you can tell me," Mulder urged, "I won't get angry."

Krycek looked down at the table before them.

"I'll believe you. I will," Mulder promised. "I don't think you'd have anything to gain from lying to me, at this point. I mean, it's like you said yesterday. Both of us are out of the game and it won't hurt either of us to compare notes. Or revelations."

Krycek sat, not looking at him. He looked unwilling to carry on with the discussion.

Mulder tried to reassure him. "I believe you, I do. What you've told me--it makes sense."

Krycek still didn't reply. Mulder watched as a tear ran silently down Krycek's cheek. He found himself filled with surprise, consternation and dismay as he watched the man who'd he'd always considered almost inhumanly capable of suppressing any kind of emotional response melt in front of him, like an icicle held over the fireplace.

He was equally surprised at the instant reaction he felt welling up within him to scoot over and comfort Krycek.

Krycek brought his hand up awkwardly to his face and wiped at his eyes. Not looking back at Mulder, he said in a rough voice, "I'm sorry."

"F-for what?" Mulder was still floating in a strange transitional twilight-zone space, not really sure what to make of this entire scene.

"For hurting you. For betraying you, alienating you. It's cost me; god knows it has. But like you pointed out, I'm not sure where I could have changed things. If I could go back in time and do things differently, I don't--I don't know what I'd do differently." He sniffled, bowed his head and whispered, "Doesn't change the fact that I have blood on my hands."

Mulder let out a silent breath, not wanting to rush a reply and maybe distract Krycek from whatever else he wanted to say.

Mulder was on the verge of... something. Some new comprehension. He felt frustrated with himself--his mind usually managed to put the pieces together. As he sat there, waiting tensely for Krycek to continue this unexpected, outpouring apology, the light finally went on in his head.

Krycek believed that since he still had the death of Mulder's father on his hands, as well as all the other things Mulder had always hated him for, that he didn't have a chance... with him.

All the times he'd seen this man before flashed in an odd, stilted procession in Mulder's brain. Alex Krycek, green rookie agent, renegade thief selling stolen secrets, double-agent manipulator, mercenary serving humanity's cause in the darkest ways, an earnest man on his knees before him and holding his own gun on him in the night before kissing him... All of them--each and every guise he'd ever seen Alex wear had always had one commonality: those eyes.

Those same eyes that couldn't quite hide the vulnerability and openness whenever he looked Mulder in the face. Those eyes that always betrayed some kind of feeling, no matter how stony or smirking the expression he wore. The same eyes that right now were spilling over with probable regret atop the remorse he was professing. Eyes that had never been able to hide what Alex had betrayed last night by initiating dinner, had shown unmistakably when he'd given him head and finally comforted him so kindly and affectionately after his nightmare...

More tears trickled down the paths the first ones had taken and Krycek turned his head away. Brokenly, he said in a barely audible voice, "I'm sorry."

Finally giving in, Mulder got up and sat down beside him, pulling him into his arms. Alex was stiff and unyielding in his embrace but he held on to him anyway. "Your hands are clean now," he murmured.

"I can't undo what I did to you."

"You don't have to. I can see that now. I DO need you; but you need me too. We need each other. We can do this; we have to. Alex, as far as I'm concerned, you washed the blood away with your tears."

Alex tensed again in Mulder's grasp.

"Yes, you did. You have a conscience. However you pay for your sins, corny as it may sound, it's between you and God, Alex. It isn't for me to be your judge or jury."

"Or executioner," Alex whispered.

"No. No, not that either." Mulder gave a morbid laugh. Then he added, "And for what's it's worth, I'm sorry that you lost...your arm," and as he said it, wondering if there was any easier way to say it, he felt a prick in his own conscience knowing he was partly responsible for that particular outcome of their sojourn in Siberia.

But Alex relaxed into him and finally turned, wiping at his face again and then accepting Mulder's embrace, even going so far as to burrow against him, his head tucked under Mulder's chin, leaning in against his chest.

Mulder was content to sit there, just holding him. Alex didn't say anything more and Mulder really didn't feel like going over it anymore, himself.

They sat like that in silence for a long time. Mulder finally realized that the room was extraordinarily hot. The cottage was well insulated and with the windows and doors all sealed, and with the couch situated so close to the fireplace, he could feel himself getting sweaty beneath the sweater he wore. The additional heat of Alex's body against him was making it worse. But he could afford to put up with the mild discomfort of getting overheated for the sake of this special moment they'd arrived at. Besides, he suspected that the temperature was partly from his own body heat getting trapped in the layers of clothing he wore. And the arousal he felt as he held Alex, so close.

Alex finally moved, shifting against him, and murmured, "Thank you."

Mulder kissed the top of his head, wondering why he felt so elated at the knowledge that now he could touch this man without feeling... guilt.

It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. And the veil fell in that instant from his eyes. He'd always wanted to touch Alex--and had been overcome with anger towards him that Alex himself had done things that made it impossible for Mulder to touch him, without always blaming himself for wanting to.

"Alex? What are the chances of us going back up the bedroom and fucking until we die?"

Alex stiffened.

Mulder quickly backtracked. "We don't have to. I was only asking. Is it too soon?"

Alex pulled away from Mulder and sat up straight once more, before looking into his face, earnestly. "We can do anything you're comfortable with. If you can handle jumping back into bed right now, that's fine with me. But I'm a little worried that you'd be using it as a way of not having to deal with all this. I mean, we've just opened the can of worms, here."

Mulder nodded. "And big, fat juicy ones they are, too. Okay, so let me ask you this, instead. What do you want for Christmas?"

Alex's eyes darted away from his, again. "You've already given me more than I ever would have thought possible."

Mulder reached up a hand and caught his chin, gently but inexorably turning his head to face him. "The truth," Mulder reminded him, searching Alex's still doubtful expression. "I can handle it. I think it's time for you to learn to trust ME, rather than the other way around."

Alex's gaze flicked downwards. "Mulder, come on. You've hit me for less, in the past."

Mulder winced as a little arrow of guilt shot through him. "I know. But I won't, ever again. Not now that I can do this," he replied, and leaned forward slightly to touch his lips softly to Alex's.

To his credit, Alex didn't flinch backwards, or instantly instigate a lip-lock, he merely closed his eyes and returned the slight pressure. Mulder immediately recognized the inherent risk involved in kissing Alex now. If they kept this up, they'd slide into another long, magnetic dance and necking session that ended up with both of them naked and writhing in a messy heap on this very same couch. Come to think of it, that was not such a bad idea...

But Alex must have recognized the same thing for he pulled back and licked his lips with a little smile. "Fox, you're a great guy, but you can't take liberties like that without mistletoe."

"Why not? You did," Mulder said, with a note of mock-reproach. "What's good for the gander is good for the goose." And he kissed Alex harder this time, catching his lips beneath his own and sliding his tongue between Alex's lips to play there.

With a slight moan, Alex pulled away again. "Don't do this unless you mean it."

Mulder moved back with an irritated scowl. He muttered, "Okay, okay. Then tell me what you want for Christmas. Either tell me, or fuck me, but I'm not going to last much longer like this."

Alex gave him an interested glance. "Really? Do tell. What part of this sordid little scene is getting to you?"

Mulder gave an exasperated sigh. "These kisses," he said, leaning forward to place his head in his hands.

"Ah, of course," Alex said in a knowing voice. "Those always did get to you, didn't they? You never forgot that night in your apartment, did you?" he said, wonderingly.

"Are you kidding?" Mulder groaned. "You burned a goddamn brand into my cheek. I never could get rid of the impression of that one."

Alex snickered. He was still snickering when Mulder looked back up at him.

Folding his arms across his chest, and sitting beside Alex so close that they were pressed up against the length of each other as they sat there, Mulder said, pouting, "Fine. So just tell me, already. What do you want for Christmas?"

"Hm. No strings?"

Mulder frowned. "What?"

"A present, and one that isn't in anyway involved somehow with anything we just talked about?"

Mulder nodded, briefly. "Yeah, right. Of course."

Alex licked his lips, nervously. And let out a breath. "Oh, fuck it," he said, irritably. "What have I ever wanted? What's the only thing I've ever wanted from you?"

Mulder waited. Then asked tentatively, "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"No, it's actually a very straightforward one," Alex admitted.

Mulder could feel the heat from Alex searing along his body in all the places where they touched, even through their clothes: his arm, his hip and his thigh. He reached with his left foot to place it against Alex's right. "Are you going to make me guess?" Mulder asked, a little incredulously.

"Are you going to make me say it out loud?" Alex countered. "Don't tell me you don't know by now. How much more obvious do I have to be? I jumped in your lap, blew you, and fucked you, all in the space of -" he stopped short, considering, "-I THINK--twelve hours?"

Mulder laughed. "You want to fuck me until I die?"

"You keep saying that. No, that's what you want, Mulder."

Sighing, Mulder playfully stroked Alex's right foot with his socked toes.

"What are you doing?" Alex asked.

"I'm playing footsie, while I wait for you tell me what you want from me for Christmas," Mulder murmured, concentrating on moving his toes over Alex's. He didn't usually engage in such tactile and dexterous control of his toes and it felt odd, but interesting.

"Why is it so hard to say, all of a sudden?" Alex wondered.

"More rhetoric," Mulder commented, clucking his tongue. "But I can't help you, or you'll just accuse me of leading the witness, here."

"You do have a bad habit of putting words in my mouth," Alex replied, with a smile.

"I'd rather put other things in that mouth of yours, but I can't until you've managed to get out the words that you DO have on the tip of your tongue," Mulder remarked. "Just out of curiosity, purely from an intellectual point of view, how long have you had a crush on me?"

"You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"

"I was joking, Alex."

"Sure you were," Alex snorted.

"I was," Mulder insisted.

"Like hell. You were fishing."

"Good point. There's a salmon steak in the freezer that would agree with you."

"Don't tell me you want me to compliment your cooking, as well? And you'll expect me to tell you that you did a good job? That you'll make someone a fine wife someday?" Alex was grinning at him, though. "What, are you planning some kind of feast for Christmas dinner, Mulder?"

"Well, it's the least I can do, in return for dinner last night. Which really was good, by the way. Thanks for that."

Alex shrugged. "You're welcome."

Mulder squirmed. "Alex, please. Just tell me. What do you want for Christmas? I'm dying in suspense, here."

Alex bit his lip. Then blurted out, "I want you to fuck me. Until death do us part." Then he looked monumentally embarrassed. "You're a bad influence, Fox. I meant until we BOTH die." He shook his head.

Mulder sucked a tooth, thinking this over, hearing what Alex was saying and feeling very odd at not having a problem with it. So, Alex wanted to play for keeps? Hell, what ELSE was he going to do with his time?

"Okay," he said, lightly.

Alex stopped, regarding him out of the corner of his eye. He looked faintly suspicious. "Mulder, do you realize what you just said?"

"Yeah. If I have to agree to fuck you instead of getting fucked myself, in order to have sex, here, I'll do it anyway you like, in any position you want," Mulder gravely informed him.

"Mm-hm. So much for dinner, then," Alex commented. "That salmon is going to stay frozen for a while longer."

"Fuck the salmon," Mulder said.

Alex sniggered. "No, thanks. And we seem to have reached an impasse. Dinner or sex?"

"It's not an either-or situation, Alex. You don't seem to understand--it's not optional. We're having sex, then food. Then more sex, then sleep. Then more sex, followed by more food, a walk down by the beach, more sex... A nap, followed by more food. And sex. Not necessarily in that order."

"Mulder, you're babbling. I've noticed you have a problem with that."

Mulder sighed. "People have always accused me of babbling. I was quite serious about the sex. And the food. And the sleep, too, in fact."

"It's a serious impediment," Alex remarked. "But I know the cure."

"That's only your opinion. It's not an impediment at all," Mulder said, batting at Alex's socked foot with his own.

"It doesn't sound like such a bad idea, what you said," Alex answered.

"What, the endless sex and meals, followed by sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Until we die," reminded Mulder. "Don't forget that part."

Alex froze.

"What?" Mulder nudged Alex's foot with his. "You didn't think I was so dumb that I missed that part, did you?"

Alex looked down. "I wondered if you'd take it seriously," he admitted.

"Alex, stop beating around the fucking bush and just say it. Tell me what you want."

Flushing, Alex said, "You. I want you. I haven't wanted anything else. I already TOLD you that. How many fucking times do I have to say it?"

"Don't get upset," Mulder replied. "You haven't said that once, yet. You've hedged around it and hemmed and hawed. There's no need to hem and haw with me."

"I think I'm entitled to a little hemming and hawing, Fox."

"Don't call me Fox," Mulder said, automatically, not thinking.

"Well, don't call me Krycek."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Okay, then," Mulder said.

"Okay."

Mulder let out a breath, aware that both of them were stalling out of pure nervousness. "If we don't move soon, I'm going to have to jump you right here."

Alex tilted his head. "As far as I'm aware, there isn't another living soul for twenty miles in either direction, along the highway OR out in the bay. And it's Christmas."

Mulder shook his head. "I want to do this properly, and I can't on this couch. There's not enough room."

"Fine. Let's go upstairs then," Alex replied, leaving Mulder's side and standing up. He stretched, and yawned.

Mulder got to his feet, ignoring the head-rush as he stood up too fast. Alex met his eye then looked away.

"Hey," Mulder said. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Mulder frowned, but he let Alex lead the way up the stairs.

The bed was still unmade from that morning. It was queen-sized, which was barely big enough for both of them.

Alex was licking his lips again. The curtains let in too much light to really guard each other's expressions from the other, but Mulder realized that was the lesser concern. Alex had said too much downstairs and was probably wondering when the ax was going to fall. Mulder walked around the end of the bed to where Alex was standing and pulled the surprised man into a hug, his arms going around him and clinging to him tightly.

Fiercely, Mulder whispered, "I want you, too. I always have. Don't you dare back out on me now; not after we've made it this far." He was painfully aware of how open to betrayal this made him. But he was certain that this time, Alex Krycek wasn't acting. He hoped.

Alex sagged in Mulder's arms and brought up his arm, clutching Mulder around his waist. He was trembling slightly--whether out of nervousness, desire or both, Mulder wasn't sure. No, there was no betrayal here, Mulder thought. If Alex bolted now, it was out of insecurity. "Come on," he said. "It's okay. It's alright, Alex."

"Jesus." Alex exhaled, heavily, the side of his face pressed to Mulder's shoulder. "You don't have any idea, do you? What that does to me?"

"What?"

"Saying my name." Alex pulled back, looking into Mulder's eyes. The amount of longing and entreaty in those eyes was so apparent that Mulder was almost shocked.

"I don't want to fuck you, this time," Mulder began. As the disappointment and pain clouded Alex's eyes, and he began to imperceptibly wilt, Mulder quickly qualified, "I want to make love to you. That's what you really want, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Alex replied, hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "I wasn't expecting this. I didn't think... I didn't presume--"

"I know." Mulder ran his hands down Alex's sides, to his hips, and began to pull his sweater up out of the way, then the shirt out of his jeans where it was tucked in. Alex moved as if to help him, and Mulder shook his head. "Let me. I want to. I'll unwrap you," he clarified.

Alex stood still then, while Mulder undressed him, undoing his jeans and sliding them down, slowly beginning to reveal Alex in all his naked glory. Mulder hadn't been able to stop remembering the vision of Alex standing naked at the bedroom door, earlier.

Mulder didn't say anything as Alex flinched when the shirt came off and his stump was no longer covered--merely leaned over and pressed a kiss first to Alex's cheek and then to his left shoulder, quickly moving to continue undressing him. Alex relaxed a little, then.

Mulder took the time to move his hand over every inch of skin as it was exposed, and by the time Alex stood in his socks and shorts, Mulder realized with triumph, Alex was trembling now with suppressed arousal and with a very stiff cock tenting his shorts.

Mulder knelt before him, getting down on his knees before reaching up to pull the shorts down past slim hips, over the jutting cock that rose up instantly, no longer confined, then down over Alex's knees, to step out of them. Mulder insisted on removing Alex's socks, too.

Mulder stood and swiftly tore off his own clothing, balancing precariously as he ripped off his socks and yanked his shorts down.

Alex was snickering as he went to the bed and shook the covers out, straightening the sheets before climbing beneath them.

When Mulder joined him, Alex asked, "Are you sure about this? You don't have to, you know."

Mulder lifted his brows. "I can rise to the occasion when needed. Just because I haven't had a steady partner in years doesn't mean I can't get it up." He grinned, but instantly recognized the foolishness of using that particular word with Alex. 'Partner' was one of those buzzwords that conjured too many ghostly remnants from their past. He covered his mistake by leaning over Alex and kissing him, sucking at his lips, licking and tasting, moving down his chin and nuzzling his neck.

Alex swallowed and lifted his own hand to caress Mulder's hair, running his fingers through it possessively, almost roughly.

Mulder's hands were itching to touch Alex everywhere and it was with a slight feeling of surprise that he realized it was okay, finally, to go ahead and give into this desire. Alex's skin was satiny, warm and smooth. Mulder was slightly overwhelmed at having all this bounty suddenly placed before him. He could relate with what Alex had expressed the night before--about dinner, lobster and the blow-job... Alex was so delicious that he wanted to lick him all over.

An evil grin came over him and he whispered against the pale skin at Alex's throat, "Turn over."

"What? Why?" Alex sounded breathless.

"It's time for lunch," Mulder said, beginning to withdraw so he could nudge at Alex, galvanizing him to turn over onto his front.

Alex complied, and Mulder pulled down the covers, exposing the tantalizing mounds of Alex's bare ass. Mulder knelt, scrabbling and reaching for the lube they'd used the night before which still graced the bedside cabinet by the lamp. Then he maneuvered his way on his knees to take up a position between Alex's parted legs.

Alex looked wanton and ready, the muscles in his slender back just tensed ever so slightly, awaiting Mulder's touch. Even with the missing arm, he was completely elegant and beautiful as he lay there with his face turned to the right.

Mulder crouched there, and feeling like a boy with a new toy--it really is Christmas, he thought--he put out both hands to stroke up Alex's thighs.

Alex's in-drawn breath was very satisfying to hear; so was his muted groan as Mulder's hands moved up and over to cup Alex's asscheeks. Mulder leaned down and began to kiss and nibble his way from behind Alex's right knee, up his leg, reaching the ripe, taut buttocks. With both hands, he spread them apart and tentatively licked at the tender skin there before delving down to flick at the rosebud of Alex's anus.

Alex was shaking and he emitted a heartfelt moan as Mulder's tongue dipped down. Mulder dragged the flat of his tongue up along Alex's crack, enjoying the way Alex involuntarily lifted his hips, arching his back slightly. Returning downwards, Mulder explored this new territory further, getting a better grip on either side and spreading Alex even farther apart. Licking in a slow, whirling motion around and around, he finally slipped the tip of his tongue into that moist, dark hole, tasting the musky, secret scent of Alex.

Mulder was shocked to discover that he could very nearly grow addicted to doing this. The little mewling helpless sounds that this act forced from Alex, the small aborted movements as Alex tried to stay still for him--it drove him crazy. He thrust his tongue further inside of Alex's ass, rewarded with a long groan from Alex in response.

His dick was so hard it was leaking--and he hadn't even touched it. Just doing this to Alex was turning him on so badly. It was probably the illicitness of the act--he hadn't often been able to convince either Diana or Phoebe to ever let him do this to them--let alone request it himself. And the few times he'd lain with Dana, he'd been too preoccupied with worrying about pleasuring her to suggest anything kinkier. But here and now, with Alex, it seemed perfectly natural. A perfect prelude to what he intended to do.

Just the glimmer of that thought was enough to make his cock jump excitedly. Fucking Alex... No--making LOVE to Alex... Oh FUCK--

Alex was breathing hard as he gasped out, "M-mulder, come on. I need--I need more."

Mulder pulled his tongue out, reluctantly, and rose up slightly, enjoying the act of leaving his hands possessively on Alex's butt. "More what?"

"More. Harder. Deeper," Alex instructed.

Mulder grinned widely. "You got it, sailor."

"I was never a sailor and neither were you."

"Too bad," Mulder quipped, snatching up the lube and squeezing it out onto his fingers. "They have the cleanest bodies and the dirtiest minds in the military."

Alex was quivering with silent chuckles. Finally, he said in a long-suffering tone, "You're repressed, aren't you?"

"Nope. I'm irrepressible and don't you forget it," Mulder warned, sliding the tip of his finger into Alex's waiting hole, feeling the ring of muscle there give slightly around the girth of it. He continued inwards, deeper, amazed at how hot and silky Alex was inside.

Mulder continued in a conversational tone of voice as he began to slide his finger in and out, working the tightness and helping to loosen him, "I have to admit that you're a wet-dream come true. I never had a chance to do anything like this with anyone."

"Poor Fox, always on top?" Alex's voice was strained.

"Poor Missionary Fox," Mulder said, piteously.

Alex obviously couldn't stand it anymore and broke. "Mulder, can you--please, just--just do it?"

Mulder licked his lips, savoring the lingering traces of Alex's taste, and pushed another finger into Alex to join the first. Alex's guttural, choked cry was enlightening.

Mulder thoughtfully began to feel around and... pressed... just so...

Alex's back arched and he gave another long groan.

Mulder smiled. Bingo, presto and abracadabra, he thought; the home-stretch. He gently and carefully retracted his fingers and reapplied lube to them, noting that the little tube was nearly empty. They were going to need more. A lot more.

He managed to get just enough to anoint his cock and then lay down atop Alex, resting on his elbows over him, before reaching down to try to align the tip of his cock against Alex's ass.

Finally, he lifted himself back up and then kissed Alex on the back of the neck. "You ready?"

"God, yes," Alex answered, fervently with his eyes squeezed shut.

Mulder carefully inserted his cock into Alex's nearly impossibly tight hole, then pushed forward another inch, and another. It was like sliding into third base, swimming towards the finish line... touchdown. Coming home. Alex's body was wrapped around him like a glove, heated and rippling against his cock like little fingers. He whimpered, caught.

He chewed and sucked on Alex's earlobe, moved down to mouth and bite at his neck, then soothed the skin there with his tongue. "Alex," he murmured, "I want to do it hard."

"It's--been a while. Just go easy at first, okay?" Alex sounded worried.

Can't have this, Mulder thought to himself. "I won't hurt you," he promised. And remembered Alex's gentle, rhythmic rocking motion as he'd impaled him the night before. He began to slowly move, just undulating at first, then slowly sliding his cock a few centimeters in and out with each thrust, trying not to just let go and fuck Alex's ass raw. He could feel sweat dripping off of him, trickling down onto Alex's skin beneath him. The effort to not ram his dick into this tight, sweet asshole and just let fly, let loose with a volley of slams and--

He stopped, realizing he had to control this or it was going to be over very soon. Alex was panting, but he had a little smile on his face, and Mulder kissed him, saying, "You think it's funny that I'm being good, here?"

"I want it hard, too; give me another minute and I'll tell you when, okay? But don't stop now."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. He could hardly form comprehensible speech--if Alex was this lucid, he obviously wasn't doing his job. He began to slowly but deeply penetrate Alex's body, letting each stroke into him carry all the way home with the momentum of his thrusts.

Soon, Alex was tense and pushing back to meet Mulder's movements. Mulder felt a flush of heat rise in his face and flood down to envelope his entire body. It was all he could do to not come at that moment.

He gripped Alex hard and moaned, then whispered harshly in his ear, "I got you, I got you at last, oh fuck, FUCK... oh God, Alex..." He reached down with one hand and tried to feel beneath Alex's belly, intending to jerk him off, but Alex's cock was trapped between the bed and the combined weight of both of them. Whatever friction Alex had would have to suffice. Mulder moved back up onto his elbows and concentrated on shoving into Alex faster.

Alex's cries were now a curious mixture of groans and squeals and Mulder's cock was big enough that every single slide into Alex was rubbing against his prostate. Alex bucked beneath him and came, his body shaking as he writhed in a paroxysm of pleasure under Mulder; his shout was practically hoarse as he shot his load, repeatedly, squirming in the grip of his orgasm.

Thank fucking God, at last, Mulder breathed to himself. And he let himself drive into Alex with a series of vicious stabbing thrusts, letting go all restraint. He felt as though his mind fell into pieces as the pleasure rose, carrying his consciousness upwards, higher and higher, dizzy heights until it was almost scary. Like touching the sky, and then floating in free-fall. Then the explosion followed and he cried out again and again as he emptied himself into Alex.

Ultimate release, it was contentment and satisfaction, fulfillment and satiation all rolled into one experience. It wasn't just about sex, or pleasure, or even control. It was about...

Happiness, he realized.

And sank down, letting his limbs drape boneless over Alex's prone form. The world was dark and quiet, supporting and continuing the ambience of the afterglow.

Finally, Alex said, "Mulder, I gotta breathe."

Mulder pulled himself up and off of Alex, feeling sluggish and heavy, like he'd just rose up out of a swimming pool. He fell backwards, to lie heavily upon his back and catch his breath.

"That was..." he said, weakly, trailing off without any words to describe it.

Alex reached out a hand and stroked Mulder's arm, his shoulder, caressing down the planes of his chest and lingering on his nipple.

"It was good," Alex said, watching him.

Mulder dragged his eyelids open and smiled goofily. "It was fucking excellent."

Curious, Alex asked, "Better than last night? Which do you prefer?"

"Don't make me choose. I can't. It's all good." Mulder gave a sigh and turned onto his side, to gather Alex closer against him and pull the covers up over them both.

Alex grimaced. "Move over. I'm in the wet spot. And it's really wet."

Mulder snickered at him. But he scooted over to the edge of the bed. "Any further and we'll be on the floor," he commented.

But Alex merely leaned over him and laid his head on Mulder's chest with a happy sigh. "Sleep until dinnertime?"

Mulder yawned. "Yeah. Salmon won't take long to cook."

Alex was quiet for a moment and then he kissed Mulder's chest and said in a low voice, "Merry Christmas."

"Best Christmas I can remember," Mulder muttered.

"Same here," Alex agreed. "I just want you to know that if it isn't what you want, I won't pressure you, Mulder. Believe me. The whole commitment thing can put people off; I've always wanted to burn white picket fences, on principle."

Mulder shook his head and stroked Alex's head, letting his hand carry on down Alex's back. "It's not that. I don't have a problem with intimacy. My problem is an obsessive personality. Idealism, ambition and the need to prove myself. But out here, there isn't anything to prove myself to but a few sandpipers, so I'll let it go. You should, too. Just let it go, Alex. We're here and that's what counts."

"No more worrying about the past, then," Alex commented.

"No."

With that, Alex seemed content to let it go and breathed easier against Mulder. Mulder stroked him until they fell asleep.

*

* * *

TITLE: Touch My Mind 3: Secrets and Salmon  
DATE: January 7, 2002  
FEEDBACK:   
ARCHIVE: RatB, DitB, XF XMasfic  
DISCLAIMER: LOL!!!!!! You're kidding, right? Besides, I have no money. [g] I think CC has a lot more money than I do. In fact, he probably has more money than all the M/K slash writers put together, so why he'd want to sue me or anyone is passing my understanding. I wonder about Fox and 1013, too... Surely they wouldn't bother?  
PAIRING: M/K  
RATING: NC-17 for m/m sex and language  
WEBSITE: http://www.saradadevi.com/jami/slash.htm, and the Xmasfic Archive - http://www.saradadevi.com/jami/xfiles/xmas1.htm  
SPOILERS: Still for Requiem and most of the series. Post-Dead/Alive: and guess what, I'm still living in denial about Essence/Existence here, so you will have to live in denial WITH me and scrap any canon that existed after the events in Dead/Alive.  
SUMMARY: Just like the title says. [g]  
NOTE: This is h/c (holiday/comfort) fic. Lyrics are from 'Trouble In Shangri La, by Stevie Nicks. Quotation: anon.  
DEDICATION: This is for Satina, (Fic-tease Angst Queen Mistress of Blow-Jobs Extraordinaire. [g] And thank you for the title!) Also, for Ursula and Jennie, with warm thanks for their encouragement :-)

* * *

Secrets and Salmon

"And he whispered to me in the darkness as we lay together..."Tell me where to touch you so that I can drive you insane. Tell me where to touch you to give you the ultimate pleasure. Tell me where to touch you so that we will truly own each other." And I kissed him softly and whispered back, "Touch my mind."  
(author unknown)

I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La  
I run through the grass  
I run over the stones  
Down to the sea  
Show me the way back, honey  
I hear there's trouble in Shangri-La  
I run through the grass  
I run over the stones  
Show me the way back...to the sea

I guess we don't believe  
That things could go that far  
We all believe in people...  
That we think believe in God  
Somewhere in the night...  
Someone feels the pain  
The ones who walk away  
Try to love again...  
You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby  
Because you are so heartbroken  
You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby  
Before the dawn of separation  
You can consume all the beauty in the room, baby  
Show me the way back

Alex awoke and opened his eyes at the sensation of Mulder's breath on his left cheek. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, enjoying the intimate novelty. It still felt like a dream, orbiting on the edge of reality. His world had never been this comforting before. He waited for the bubble to burst, for the usual dread to return.

It didn't. If anything, the dream grew stronger, solidifying even as he opened his eyes once more. He peered out of the corner of his eye at Mulder's sleeping features. In the dim light of the room, he could barely make out Mulder's face. The light of the afternoon had faded and evening was creeping in.

Mulder appeared deeply asleep and Alex wanted him to remain that way, those full lips nearly touching his jaw. He loved the comforting slow puffs of Mulder's warm breath against his face. Mulder's nose and forehead were resting against him, and Mulder's arm was around his middle, keeping him tucked in closely. Like the embrace of -

A lover.

Alex grinned, widely, feeling warmth suffuse him that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room or Mulder's body heat, although both were pleasant enough. This was more than cozy. It felt like more than just a dream now.

Abruptly, Alex managed to identify what exactly was causing this new experience for him. He could touch Mulder at this instant without fearing Mulder's reaction. The freedom to cuddle up to him, to kiss those lips that were so close to his, to stroke Mulder's skin... He felt lightheaded with euphoric relief and joy.

The memory from the morning returned, and he smiled at it. This time, he would cuddle Mulder after all.

Leaning into him, he turned to press his lips to Mulder's.

Mulder moaned, returning the kiss almost mechanically, his arm tightening around Alex.

Alex relished the pressure. It felt possessive somehow.

"Alex," Mulder murmured against his mouth.

"Did I wake you?"

"Only marginally." Mulder didn't open his eyes.

Alex chuckled. "Either I did or I didn't. You can't be marginally awake, any more than you can be a little bit pregnant, Mulder."

Mulder gave him the finger. But he was grinning.

Alex considered Mulder's finger and moved, leaned down quickly, catching it in his mouth, sucking on it.

Mulder's eyes flew open. He looked down at Alex, who lifted his head and regarded Mulder with a mischievous grin.

"I guess once wasn't enough, was it?"

Mulder snickered. "Alex, you can blow me anytime."

"My pleasure, Mulder, so long as you return the favor this time." Alex moved to hover over Mulder.

"You could lick me, too, you know. You can lick me anytime, anywhere," Mulder declared, pulling Alex down into another kiss.

Shaking with silent chuckling, Alex returned the kiss and then pulled away as Mulder's stomach gurgled loudly.

He looked up at Mulder, their eyes meeting in the darkness of the bedroom, and Alex said, "Dinner."

"Definitely."

"And then dessert," Alex pointed out.

"Again, that is a definite." Mulder yawned and stretched as Alex moved away, pulling back the covers. Mulder turned on the lamp and then got up from the bed.

Alex swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood, following Mulder's example with a spine-cracking stretch. For the first time in a long time, he no longer felt uncomfortable without his clothing, in front of Mulder - or anyone else for that matter. He was glad but at the same time puzzled. He hadn't expected that having sex with Mulder would result in losing the inhibition of being naked in front of him. Somehow, he took confidence from the easy, casual way that Mulder sauntered naked before him.

As they pulled their clothes back on, Mulder met his eyes once, twice, three times and finally muttered, "How the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off of you, now?"

Alex sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his socks on. "Whoever said you had to?"

Mulder raised his brows. "So I can accost you anytime I want, huh?"

Alex grinned. "Sure. But remember that I have the same privilege."

Mulder licked his lips, thoughtfully. "You know, this sounds like the start of a beautiful friendship."

Alex stood and walked right up to him, grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a searing kiss. When he let go of Mulder, the man was breathing hard. Alex said, "No, it's more than that. Friends don't kiss each other like that, do they? None of mine do."

"If they don't, it doesn't necessarily mean that they don't want to," Mulder muttered as Alex turned to open the bedroom door and go downstairs.

In the kitchen, Alex found himself putting dishes away in cupboards while Mulder took the salmon out of the freezer and turned on the oven. Alex decided to set the table while Mulder fussed over rice and frozen peas. Considering the way that Mulder busied himself with the food, he asked, "This is really getting to you, isn't it?"

Mulder stopped and turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Alex shrugged. "This... new 'thing' we have here. What was that about my friends? Are you saying that all my friends secretly want to kiss me? Or that you have secretly wanted to?"

Mulder snorted and turned back to the stove, putting the rice on to boil. "Both. If you're so naïve that you don't know how people respond to you, hell, there's no helping you."

Alex paused, holding a clean glass. He set it down in front of Mulder's plate.

When he didn't reply, Mulder turned again and regarded him. Quietly, Mulder continued, "I don't think you really know how strong it is, the effect you have on people."

"Well, that makes two of us," Alex commented.

It was Mulder's turn to shrug. "Perhaps. But you've always had people looking at you like you're a rare steak and they're starving."

Alex frowned at him. "It says a lot about you, that you've noticed."

Mulder grinned, unexpectedly. "I know."

Bemused, Alex asked, "How long have you been noticing, Mulder?"

Mulder sighed and turned to the salmon in the casserole dish. He began to cover it with aluminum foil. "For a while. Every time we've met, you've had people staring at you. I can't believe you haven't been aware of that."

Softly, Alex replied, "Maybe because I was so busy staring at you." Then he frowned again. "Or trying not to. Wait, stop - what are you doing?" He went over to the salmon and lifted the foil off of the dish. "You need to put lemon on that. And butter. And maybe a little salt and pepper."

Mulder went to the fridge, retrieved a lemon and a stick of butter, and picked up a sharp knife. Cutting the lemon in half, he garnished the salmon. "I don't think I've been imagining things. And it's not just me. You are attractive, Alex."

Alex looked away. "White wine, with this?" He went to the fridge.

Mulder nodded at the small pantry off to the side. "It's in there."

After he went inside and located the wine, Alex stayed in the pantry, slowly staring down at the wine bottle in his hand. Mulder had just revealed that he'd been noticing others looking at him, him, almost proprietarily so. As if he belonged to Mulder. As if Mulder didn't like others looking at him. Even when hating his guts and beating on him, Mulder considered him to be his property. Interesting.

He finally came out of the pantry and put the wine on the table. Mulder had put the salmon in the oven, put the rice and peas on to cook, had fixed coffee and was leaning against the counter, his arms folded, waiting as the coffee maker burbled.

Alex sat down at the kitchen table, before the empty plates. Leaning back in his chair, he asked, "You've never lost your ideals, have you?"

Mulder nodded. "Yes, I did. Only artists and entrepreneurs keep their dreams, their visions."

"So why did you keep going? You never gave up."

"Why did you?" Mulder rejoined, pointedly.

The air suddenly grew thick and Alex could feel the answer welling up within him like a dangerous floodtide. He wanted to answer truthfully, but he didn't dare. Not yet. It was too soon. Mulder wasn't ready to hear it - at least, that's what he told himself. But he knew that he was the one who couldn't handle it yet. So he settled for the easy answer. "I couldn't afford to. The stakes were too high."

Mulder regarded him with a curious gaze. "I have given up though. That's why I came up here. I needed to think about myself for once, instead of the pursuit of the truth. I've had to accept that there is no final truth."

Alex bit his lip. Jesus - Mulder didn't know. He really didn't have any idea. "You remember that episode you had a few years ago, with the metal fragment of the ship in Africa and how it affected you?"

"Yeah?" Mulder froze, transfixed by this change of topic.

"Do you know why it affected you the way that it did?"

Mulder hesitated. "I suppose you're going to tell me?"

Alex let out a breath. "Those artifacts... they only affect certain individuals. In different ways, yes, but there is one commonality that all of the subjects who have ever responded to those fragments shared."

Mulder waited.

Alex leaned forward. "Mulder, they were all hybrids. All of you were. You are the truth you've been searching for. Why do you think you were protected? Why do you think the Smoking Man ensured your immunity?"

Mulder looked troubled. "Because he was my biological father. Wasn't he?"

Alex licked his lips, not really knowing how he was going to explain it. "Only partially."

Mulder's voice, as well as his brows, rose higher as he repeated, "Partially?"

Alex sat back, wondering if he was doing the right thing by revealing this now. "It was agreed that Mrs. Mulder would be artificially impregnated with an embryo that had both her own DNA and that of a Gray, mixed with that of the Smoker's to provide a stable XY chromosome base for the other two. It's been quite a common practice among the aliens to run generational hybrid programs in human females. It was one of the more interesting steps of the Project. It was one that was being held jointly between the Syndicate and the Grays."

Mulder didn't look horrified. He looked fascinated. "So I have two fathers? And one of them was an alien?"

Alex swallowed. "You were... special. You were one of the first. The first successful hybrid. And you were formed naturally. There was very little tampering - it was a successful genetic bonding between the three, although the amount of Gray DNA in you is very slight, it's enough to ensure your...more interesting qualities. That's partly why you have such an intuitive intelligence. It wasn't just a genetic fluke - it's part of your heritage from the alien side of your... genetic makeup. The introduction of the alien DNA into the equation would ensure that you carry traits that are not as dominant in human genetics at this time."

Mulder stared at him. Then he said, "Gibson Praise. No wonder they snatched that kid up so fast. He was a hybrid."

"Of course," Alex nodded. "But not one that the Consortium had created. He had slightly different talents or traits than you or the others, but Cassandra Spender was the real prize, because she was the first ordinary human that was successfully adapted using the alien DNA, rather than being a hybrid by birth."

"Considering the Project failed, I'm surprised that I wasn't killed off before now," Mulder said.

"I'm not sure, but I never had the impression that the Grays found the hybrids a threat, actually. Not those. I think they found it just as intriguing. And to be honest, I think they've been running their own quiet, widespread hybrid program among the population, concurrently with the Consortium's attempts. And more successfully, as well. Gibson Praise was evidence of that."

Mulder's eyes were shining. "But that would mean that there are many more human-alien hybrids out there than anyone suspects."

"Right."

Alex looked back at him, wondering if Mulder was going to become enthusiastic enough about this to insist that they investigate further. But the rice began to boil over and Mulder quickly turned to whip off the lid and turn down the heat.

Alex got up to get two coffee cups and poured the fresh, hot coffee into them. He placed a cup on the counter next to Mulder.

"Thanks," Mulder said absently, stirring the rice.

Sitting back down at the table, Alex sipped his coffee and waited.

Mulder put the lid back on the rice and turned. "Where is the Smoking Man?"

Alex looked away. "He's... dead."

Mulder regarded him, eyes narrowing in sudden comprehension. "You killed him."

Alex closed his eyes and sighed.

Not just one, but two. Both of Mulder's fathers. And the number of Grays he'd plammed, too... Who knows? Maybe he'd ended up killing the original Gray who'd contributed part of his DNA to that particular experiment as well, he thought morosely to himself. He looked up at Mulder and answered, "He knew that the ship was there to collect abductees, Mulder. The smoking bastard led us all into that particular trap. You don't think I would have brought you the information about that ship and the alien bounty hunter's activities if I'd known you would be at risk, do you?"

Mulder chuckled. "No, I don't. You would have kept that from me too, along with everything else out of fear of losing me. Keep Spooky Mulder in the dark. He's safer that way. Right?"

Alex winced. "It's not a fucking joke, Mulder. You died at their hands! They fucking injected you with their latest virus to ensure that you'd no longer be a threat to their plans."

Quietly, Mulder nodded. "I know that. Why are you getting so upset about it? We both know that, Alex."

Breathing hard, Alex looked away.

"Alex?" Mulder repeated, not letting him off the hook.

"Because it- I- I didn't want to lose you." Alex flushed and he looked angrily back up at Mulder's placid face. "We both know that too, so why are you rubbing my nose it?"

Mulder looked a little taken aback. "I'm not trying to."

"Bullshit. You know how hard it was, hearing you'd been fucking buried, Mulder? I don't think you have any idea. I think you're just getting off on the fact that I cared. But I don't think you'll ever know just how fucking difficult that was. I didn't-" he stopped, aware that he was losing it, and in front of Mulder as well. Which was unpardonable. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he added, in a hoarse tone.

Mulder swallowed. "I'm sorry, Alex."

Alex snorted and looked away. "Right. And I'm a sentimental idiot."

"No, you aren't. I know it was hard on Scully, on all of them. I just didn't realize how hard it was on you, that's all. But I see now it might have been hardest of all for you."

"Don't worry about it. I got over it fairly quickly."

Mulder smiled, gently. "Sure." He picked up his coffee and drank. "If you say so."

Alex was furious with himself. Why did he always manage to somehow lose his cool? And why was it so hard still, even now that they'd become...lovers... to tell Mulder how he felt? Ah, of course. He was still wide open for betrayal. He couldn't trust Mulder yet. And he knew that if Mulder discovered that poignant little factoid, he'd probably be very hurt and claim Alex had been playing him all along.

"It's alright," Mulder reassured him. "I get it. I do."

"You do?" Alex asked, suspiciously.

Mulder chuckled over his coffee cup. "Don't make me say it. Are you really ready for either of us to say it, just yet?"

Alex let out a sigh and scowled, looking away.

The salmon in the oven was starting to fill the kitchen with a delicious aroma. It was Alex's turn for his stomach to rumble.

"It's okay, Alex," Mulder said in that same comforting, gentle tone of voice.

The affectionate response that surged through Alex was almost unbearable. How badly he wanted to believe in this. In the new friendship they seemed to have. But even though they'd both changed over the years, through it all, Alex was painfully aware of Mulder's predilections. He'd have to tread a very careful line here, as he ran the risk of exciting Mulder into a renewed pursuit of more 'truths' of the same nature he'd just revealed to him. He also ran the risk of leaving himself completely open to being flayed, both inside and out.

Oh hell, who was he kidding? He'd long since abandoned his defenses. He'd left them at the front door when he walked in here, the night before. Earlier, even. Down at the beach with that momentary lapse of common sense, when he'd revealed the true depth of his feelings for Mulder, far beyond any mere sexual attraction.

He was in deep now. Feeling uncomfortable and drowning in apprehension, Alex studied his coffee.

Mulder slowly advanced, coming to stand right beside him, and then leaned down to tilt Alex's face up to meet his, as he kissed him. The sheer tenderness of Mulder's kiss was enough to make Alex's insides melt. Not letting go of his chin, Mulder pulled back and said, softly, "It's alright. I know. I already know. You can stop worrying. And I'm not going to kick you out."

Trying to quell the abrupt arousal that flared heatedly in his jeans, Alex licked his lips nervously. Pavlov's dog, indeed. "Mulder, I -" But he stopped. He still couldn't say it. Not like this, not so obviously, in the light down here in the kitchen. Upstairs in bed was another matter. So was outside on the beach in a fit of anger. But like this, with Mulder cupping his face so tenderly, looking down at him with an expression of acceptance, he couldn't.

Mulder smiled again and let go, returning to the stove to stir the peas.

Wonderingly, Alex watched. "I could give you the world," he murmured.

"I know that too," Mulder said with his back still to him. "But not if it would place me in danger, which is why you haven't. Although, you've had the means for a while now, haven't you? I couldn't help but notice that you didn't step in and take charge after the Syndicate Elders were barbecued."

Alex sighed through his nose. "Yeah. I didn't relish the further sacrifices I'd have to make in order to see that through. My hands were already dirty enough." He refrained from using the word 'bloody', although he knew Mulder would be thinking of their earlier discussion.

Mulder leaned down to open the oven door and check the salmon. Alex couldn't help his gaze from sliding down to admire Mulder's ass as the man leaned over, saying, "It's nearly there. Another five minutes, I think."

Alex wondered if Mulder would be up to another ass-fucking, later. After dinner, he mused silently. That would be the best dessert.

Mulder was giving him an odd look. "Alex?"

"Yeah?" He roused himself, looking up.

"I said, shall we open the wine?" Mulder's expression told him he suspected what Alex was thinking as he'd blanked out, there.

Alex grinned. "We can open anything you like."

Mulder nodded. Then, out of the blue, he said, "It makes sense, actually. Cancerman was a member of MJ-12, like Deep Throat. He would have used his position to ensure that his DNA was used in the creation of... me. But what about Samantha?"

Alex gave him a frown at his abrupt change of subject. "Mulder, only you would choose to open a can of worms over anything else."

"I didn't open it," Mulder countered. "You did."

Alex sighed heavily. "Your sister was Bill and Teena Mulder's daughter, and a small amount of alien DNA was added to the formation of her embryo after conception. A very small amount."

Mulder's expression flickered. "Was it the same Gray that contributed to mine?"

"I have no idea."

Mulder asked, "Do I have to come over there and kiss you again, to get you to stop frowning at me?"

Alex paused, wondering why Mulder was switching back and forth between the two subjects like this. "No, I..." What was he saying? Passing up an opportunity to kiss Mulder again, he had to be nuts. Then he realized, "No, or we'll never get to eat."

Mulder turned again and leaned down to take the fish out of the oven, affording Alex another enticing view of that ass. "You're burning a hole in my jeans," Mulder commented.

Alex straightened with a smirk. "You don't need jeans. You don't need clothes."

"I'd get cold pretty quickly," Mulder pointed out, ripping the foil off the casserole dish, gingerly. Steam instantly lifted, bearing the scent of the salmon with it.

"I'd keep you warm," Alex promised.

Mulder turned at this, and Alex saw he was grinning. "Your choice, Alex. Do you want me on the kitchen table or back upstairs?"

Alex shifted in his seat, his own jeans growing tighter. "Let's play it by ear. We may not make it upstairs."

Checking the rice, Mulder said, "Finally. Give me a hand here?" Then paused as he realized what he'd said.

Alex knew Mulder was thinking of how he'd lost his arm. He got up and went to help him, leaning over to take advantage of Mulder's inability to respond, occupied as he was with holding the pot of rice in one hand and the lid to it in the other, and kissed him on the cheek. "A hand or a hand-job - it's all the same." He chuckled as Mulder stood for a moment, blinking.

Mulder donned an oven mitt and picked up the dish of salmon and a spatula. He brought it over to their plates, dividing the salmon between both of them.

"We're having Digby Chicks for Christmas Dinner."

Alex was puzzled at this obscure phrase. "Digby Chicks?"

"Yeah. During the depression, the poor traditionally had smoked herring instead of Christmas chicken for supper. And here we are, with salmon."

Alex shrugged. "I don't know - seems kind of fitting after last night's dinner, actually."

"It isn't too late for a re-enactment of the Last Tango in Digby," Mulder quipped.

Alex strained the rice and brought it to the table for Mulder to dish out. "Sure, as long as you don't mind using butter. I've run out of lube, in any case."

Mulder sucked a breath into his lungs. He turned and went to place the empty dish back on the stovetop. "I'll be right back." He walked out of the kitchen.

Alex stared after him. "Where are you going?" he called.

"To get lube," Mulder called back from the stairs.

Snickering, Alex went to strain the peas. As he did so, however, his mirth slipped away. Earlier that afternoon after being thoroughly fucked by Mulder, he'd tried to offer Mulder a way out. And he hadn't lied, he didn't want Mulder feeling committed to this. Prematurely, at least. But Mulder kept breaking down the tentative walls he erected. It was true, Mulder wasn't the one who was afraid of intimacy: Alex was.

Sex was one thing. Love was another. There, he'd said it to himself, if nothing else. And it wasn't just any old love, like the love of a friend or even a lover. He was in love. Mad, crazy and fucking obsessed. And Mulder knew it. Was giving him the space to work up the nerve to say it. Was letting him have all the room he needed while reassuring him at the same time as he continued returning Alex's desire. It was moving so fast. He swallowed, closing his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to let go when Mulder decided their time was up?

How much longer did they really have? When would Mulder deem his time had come to a close and Mulder no longer needed him? A wistful melancholy descended upon him once more. If he blurted out that he loved him, Mulder might still think he was trying to emotionally manipulate him, or even - God forbid - that he was too needy and clinging. If he didn't, he ran the risk of Mulder believing that it didn't really mean that much to him beyond the sex either.

Mulder came back downstairs and entered the kitchen, noting that Alex was standing over the sink with the peas in the strainer. "I brought the bottle, this time. Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Alex quickly poured the peas back into the pan and took it to the table.

Mulder opened the wine and filled their glasses. He sat down at the table, saying, "It's getting cold, so let's dig in."

Alex sat down, thoughtfully, and picked up his fork.

Mulder was already eating. "What's up? You've got that pensive look on your face again."

"You said that you'd be here for another week or so."

Mildly, Mulder asked, "Fishing, Alex? Can't we just take each day at a time, here? To tell you the truth, I don't know what I'm going to do. And besides, I'm not sure I could smuggle you back across the border. It might be safer to keep you here and extend the lease on this place."

Alex choked on his mouthful of salmon. Raising his wine glass quickly, he took a sip. Glaring as Mulder chuckled at him, he said, "I'm not your pet."

"Aren't you?" Mulder grinned.

"And there I was, thinking you had scruples," Alex countered. "If you think I'd wear your collar or some shit like that, you have another thing coming."

"No? Well then... I could wear yours, instead," Mulder said, before taking another bite of fish and rice.

"I'd rather see you wearing a ring," Alex said, waiting for that to sink into Mulder's consciousness. Then, as Mulder's expression changed, he added, "A cockring."

"Sadist," Mulder muttered.

"Pervert," Alex returned.

Mulder laughed. "I'm not the one sitting here with a hard-on."

"I could remedy that for you," Alex suggested, thinking that Mulder was getting far too cocky. "In fact, I think I will, right after we've finished eating, here. Yeah, I'm going to change your religion, Mulder. I'm going to help you star in your very own home video. In this kitchen, on this very same table."

"I know," Mulder said, nonchalantly chewing his last bite of salmon. "That's why I brought the lube down."

Alex stopped, ensuring he had Mulder's full attention as he picked up his glass again. He licked the rim of it, very slowly, before taking another sip. Lowering his voice, he said, "Take off your pants, Mulder."

Mulder watched, enchanted, a nice shade of red creeping into his cheeks. Alex noted the dilation of the pupils in Mulder's wide hazel eyes.

Mulder twitched and then raised a brow at him. "I'm not done eating yet."

"I know. I can see that."

Mulder pursed his lips. "I'll get cold," he said.

"Wimp," Alex said.

"I knew it," Mulder said, standing up and unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down the zipper. "You are a sadist." He pulled his jeans down, and then sat, where he finished taking them off, over each ankle. "There, happy now?"

Alex leered at him. "No, but I will be. Very soon. Don't worry, I'm going to make you happy too."

Mulder snorted and leaned down, reaching into the pocket of his discarded jeans. "Here. No butter required." He put the bottle of Astroglide on the table next to the wine bottle.

Alex stared at it and then looked up at Mulder. "I think we should wait a while. You know, give ourselves time to digest our food."

Mulder was running the tip of his tongue over his lips. He shifted in his seat.

Alex decided to let him suffer and ride it out for a while.

"Thanks for the vaccine, by the way," Mulder said, casually.

Alex stared back up at him. "What -?"

Mulder motioned with his fork. "After they dug me up. In the Naval Hospital. Remember?"

"Sure. Glad I could help. Like I said before, you're welcome."

"And thanks for being here with me. For being my friend." Mulder delivered this gravely, sincerely.

Alex swallowed in a suddenly dry throat, the salmon threatening to choke him.

"I was wrong about you," Mulder went on, declaring this in a no- nonsense tone of voice. "I didn't want to trust you, to believe you. I thought you were trying to capitalize on the fact that I was on the edge, up here. But I believe you."

Alex fiddled with his glass. Glancing up to meet Mulder's serious eyes, he replied, "I'm glad. Thanks for taking the chance on me. I know it wasn't easy, considering all that's gone on between us."

Mulder nodded, slowly. And then continued eating.

They both ate in silence for a little while, before it occurred to Alex that he hadn't yet addressed the issue of forgiveness. He wasn't going to beg Mulder to forgive him, but he wanted to know if there was any chance that Mulder was still considering casting him out into the cold the moment he was sure Alex would really be hurt by it. To repay him for what he'd done.

Alex realized in the next heartbeat that Mulder wouldn't. The man had too much integrity. And he found himself thanking whatever spirits or angels were looking after Mulder that he, Alex, would rather give up his remaining arm than betray Mulder's confidence again. It would be too easy, he knew, for Mulder to give him the benefit of the doubt and for him to really fuck Mulder over, here.

But maybe one of the reasons Mulder was trusting him, now, was that he knew, sensed even, that he could trust Alex this late in the game. And that Alex had changed enough to be genuinely there for him.

He frowned. "Mulder, how did you know that I meant what I said? That I wasn't here to betray you?"

It was almost like picking at a scab that itched. He couldn't help asking. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. This thing between them was still far too fragile.

But Mulder surprised him. "Because you cried. I wasn't sure until then."

Alex looked down at his nearly cleared plate. "I could have been acting."

"Were you?" It was a loaded question, but Alex could tell Mulder was daring him to lie about it.

"No." A dart of sorrow went through him, remembering it. No, he hadn't been acting. If anything, he'd been ashamed to so completely come apart like that, in front of Mulder.

"You betrayed yourself," Mulder pointed out, with a reassuring smile. "You're good, but you're not that good. And most of your lies have been lies of omission, in the past."

Astounded, Alex let out a surprised breath. "Really? Do tell."

"Haven't they?" Mulder asked, in the same tone as before.

Again, Mulder was relying on Alex's conscience to be his guide, Alex realized.

"Yeah, they have," he admitted, feeling another small amount of the weight that had always sat within him lift slightly.

"I thought so," Mulder murmured, his eyes glittering as he regarded him.

Alex smiled. "Thanks. And thanks for dinner. It was good. Not as exotic as the one I treated you to, but... gotta love those Digby Chicks. Thank you." And he wasn't just thanking him for the food. He hoped Mulder understood that.

"It isn't over yet. We still have dessert." Mulder winked at him and gave a little smile.

Alex's mind was filled with renewed images at this. Mulder, naked... Mulder, his shorts down, bent over the table, leaning, awaiting Alex... His flanks trembling... begging for it...

Alex nearly gasped at the thought of taking Mulder. His erection hadn't flagged, throughout the entire meal.

Mulder started chuckling and drank the last of his wine.

It would be very easy at this moment to put any worry of the future out of his mind. Alex wondered about the issue of trust, though. Was it just sex for Mulder? Mulder already knew how Alex felt about him. Mulder was also aware of how much Alex wanted to stay here with him. He'd practically promised Alex that they could remain here... 'Extend the lease', indeed. But he had yet to hear from Mulder that he actually returned Alex's affection.

Mulder squirmed in his chair. But then he said, "Alex, I meant what I said. Stop worrying. I want you, too. It's not just a game for me."

Alex's gaze flicked down to regard the empty plates, then over to the lube. He looked back up at him. "I believe you." He meant to say it calmly, but he could hear the urgency in his own voice even as it was colored with his longing. He held Mulder's eyes, reveling in the fact that he could now look at Mulder's face as long as he wanted, drink in his eyes, admire his mouth and mentally touch his cheek, run his fingers through his hair. He felt a moment's anger and pain that he couldn't hold him with both arms.

Mulder swallowed, staring back him, his eyes going quite dark, lust- filled and wide. "Prove it," he said, his breath coming harder.

Alex's breath caught in his chest. FUCK. To do this now... and after waiting for the duration of the dinner, his erection stone-hard and refusing to go down despite his willing it to do so. The table was probably large enough and sturdy enough to endure it, Alex thought. Alex stood up, picked up the Astroglide and flipped open the top. "Stand up."

Mulder did so, revealing his tented shorts. He pushed the chair out of the way and then reached out to shove the plate out of the way too.

"Nice. But pull them down. In fact, take them off," Alex ordered, putting the lube down on the table again momentarily. His own hand went to his jeans and he opened them, pulling them down over his hips.

Mulder pulled off his shorts and stood leaning against the table. He leaned down farther, bending at the waist and leaving his ass bare, exposed to Alex's intentions.

The wine was flowing through his bloodstream now. Alex found his breath hitching as he prepared his cock, squirting the lube on it generously. He rubbed the lubricant all over himself, enjoying the slick, warm sensation of his hand on his cock. Then, stepping up behind Mulder, he said, hoarsely, "Spread yourself."

Mulder's face was scarlet now. His hands shook slightly as he stayed bent over the table, resting against it, and reached back to part his asscheeks for Alex. At the sight of that tight, secret hole that he'd been inside of only just the night before, Alex felt his cock jump in his hand. He swallowed, hard. He wanted to take Mulder properly, to do it right. Do it the way he had wanted to, over their dinner table in the hotel. Do it the way he'd wanted Mulder to do to him.

Sliding two slick fingers up and then down Mulder's crack, he pressed them against Mulder's anus, saying, "Can you take it? After last night?"

Mulder groaned. "Alex, please." Mulder instinctively pulled his cheeks apart even farther, his anus contracting and then fluttering slightly against Alex's fingertips.

Alex slid one finger into him, then another, slowly, enjoying the silky tightness that gripped them and the accompanying longer groan from Mulder.

"God, please," Mulder gasped, moving to stand with his legs spread apart wider for him.

So beautiful, too beautiful like this, Alex thought, hardly able to believe that it was actually happening. After all the wet dreams and fantasies he'd entertained over the years, he was about to fuck Fox Mulder in daylight. Over a kitchen table, no less. Who ever would have thought?

And Mulder was so fucking gorgeous like this, pushing sluttishly back against his hand, eager for Alex's fingers to probe even deeper.

He leaned in close, pulling his fingers out of Mulder's ass and quickly grabbed his cock, aiming for Mulder's hole. Sliding in past that tight ring of muscle, Alex was close to coming, just from the sensation alone on the head of his cock. He bit his lower lip, hard, not wanting to hurt Mulder... And then realized he needed to do it rough. Hard and rough. He was willing to bet Mulder did too. "How do you want it, Mulder?" he asked, letting the promise of granting Mulder's wish ring through his voice, as well as the slight threat if Mulder didn't ask for the right thing.

"Hard. I want it hard," Mulder said, his voice straining, the desperation obvious in his words. "Give to me."

Alex pushed in deeper, letting his cock sink into Mulder all the way, until he was inside of Mulder's ass as far as he could go. He was going to fuck Mulder so hard. God, yes, deep and rough. He growled, letting loose the pent-up desire he'd been holding back all through the meal.

He began to thrust into Mulder, waiting a few seconds before repeating the motion each time, keeping Mulder jerking slightly under it and shaking as he waited for Alex to keep going, to do it again.

Oh God, fucking Mulder, fucking him right here. After all this time, after all these years. It sent a spark of wet heat sharply pricking behind his eyelids in tandem with the sharply electric surge in his belly.

Mulder gave an open-mouthed cry with every push of Alex's cock into his ass. That alone was almost enough to bring Alex to his peak right there. The added delicious feeling of Mulder's tight and silken clenching heat was making him whimper and grunt. He felt like an animal, finally able to let go. It was even better than the night before. And without any warning, he felt the heat rise and sweep over his skin, like a brushfire, as it began to burn over him from his toes and all the way up his body to his face. His scalp tingled, even the hair on his head feeling sensitive as he began thrusting more erratically into him. Aware he was getting too close, Alex reached down hastily and felt around. He encountered Mulder's anxious and dripping cock and began to palm it, slowly, then waited until he could feel the tide of his own pleasure begin to crest before jerking on him roughly.

Slamming into Mulder's ass, bucking against him, he cried out as the storm of hot pleasure rippled through him. It gripped his lower belly with a fierce, renewed rush of lust and then shot out of his cock. Spastically, he shuddered with a nearly silent shout as he emptied himself into Mulder's body.

Mulder followed him soon afterwards, jolting under him, against the table, his cock going off in Alex's firm grip and spattering the underside of the wooden table with his come.

They vibrated together, caught in the grasp of their climax, both shaking the table and threatening to topple the empty glasses. And then there was nothing left in Alex's consciousness except the fact that he was as close to Mulder as he would ever, ever be. For a brief flickering instant, he wished they were face to face; so he could see Mulder's expression, look into his eyes. In the next, he was grateful they weren't, else he wouldn't have been able to contain his terror at such intimacy, such beauty.

Alex let out a shaky breath, aware that he had scraped his throat raw with shouts somewhere along the way. He didn't remember screaming but then again, his hearing had fled momentarily when his orgasm had poured out of him.

Mulder was panting on the table, his ass still tightening around Alex's spent cock occasionally. He gave a breath that sounded almost like a sob. Of relief or pain or even pleasure, Alex couldn't tell.

Alex leaned over him, licking briefly at the back of Mulder's neck before resting against him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to ruin the moment but suddenly biting back words of love and tenderness. God, since when had he metamorphosed into a romantic sap? It wasn't him; it was this place. Most romantic place in Canada, indeed, he suddenly thought to himself, enjoying the heat pouring off of Mulder's back and legs, the way that his come in Mulder's ass was liquid silk against his softening cock, and the perfect way they fit together. He remained there, molded against Mulder's perfect ass, inside of him and around him. He almost wished they were back upstairs in bed.

He didn't want to say anything to break the silence and unexpectedly found himself fighting back tears. Why couldn't anything be easy? And when was it enough? He had wanted this for so long and to finally hold it in his hand was terrifying. He felt full and content, his body truly satiated at last. But deep inside, that little flame of hope that had never died, that had always waited and burned and kept flickering throughout even some of the most hopeless and despairing times of his life in the past eight years, suddenly flared brighter.

He pressed a kiss to the back of Mulder's neck and then started to pull out. Looking around, he saw the roll of paper towels and hiked his jeans up enough to sidle over and get some. Mulder moaned deeply and then lifted himself from the table. He ambled over to join Alex and accepted the paper towel that Alex handed him. Mulder looked awesome. He was flushed, his mouth parted, a faint sheen of sweat covering him. He looked utterly delicious.

Mulder didn't look directly at him, but he was wearing a smile. "Well, when you promise to do it hard, you really deliver and do it hard."

Alex regarded him and turned to throw the wadded-up paper towel into the trash. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No. You could do it a lot harder, actually." Mulder said it casually and then turned to also toss his paper towel. He didn't miss.

He turned a smug look on Alex who deliberately let his gaze fall to take in Mulder's naked lower half, drawing attention to the fact that Mulder's shirt was doing very little in the way of covering him.

Mulder leaned in and grabbed Alex, pulling him against him tightly. Caught in Mulder's embrace, Alex could only reach up and hold him. Mulder said in his ear, "If you think you're leaving after this, you're wrong. You're not getting away now."

But Alex could hear the plea in Mulder's words. "No, I'm not," he promised, huskily, cursing himself for being a coward even now and not saying all he wanted to say. The fear and the happiness mingled somehow inside of him and all he could do was just - stand there and let Mulder hold him.

Mulder stood there for a few minutes, aware that he needed it, that they both needed it, holding onto him. Then finally, he relaxed, stepping back and giving Alex a slightly self-conscious smile. "I need to put my pants back on. I'm freezing my ass off, here."

"I'm giving serious consideration to pursuing research into transparent textiles," Alex said, grinning.

Mulder raised his brows at him before bending down to pick up his jeans and shorts. "Maybe we need to go somewhere tropical then, where we can run free and wild, uncivilized and unhampered by clothing."

Alex examined the coffee pot. There was still enough for a cup for each of them. "Shall we go back to the living room?"

"Yeah. I want to check the weather report... IF we're getting any reception." Mulder brought Alex's cup back to the sink and washed both cups before handing them to him. Alex poured the coffee and Mulder took them into the living room. Alex regarded the food. The salmon was gone. The leftover rice and peas he placed in two separate bowls and put in the fridge.

Mulder had settled down on one end of the couch, his legs tucked under him. He had turned the TV on but the reception was terrible. Alex frowned at the television and went to the front door, unlocking and opening it to peer outside, up at the sky. It was getting very dark but he could still make out that it was quite overcast. A chill wind was blowing, promising ice and perhaps blizzards.

He shut the door and went to sit down on the couch, not quite in the middle. "It'll probably snow again, unless it gets much colder."

"Mm. We should clear the driveway tomorrow morning."

Alex looked over at him, wondering if he should move closer and then realized that for the first time in his life, it was okay to do so. With a slight smile, he scooted up against Mulder, who shifted slightly to accommodate him. Leaning against Mulder with a happy sigh, he settled into him, allowing himself to relax against Mulder's body.

Mulder's right arm was resting along the back of the sofa and he let it drop down to encircle Alex, holding him.

Lazily, Mulder said, "You feel good."

"So do you," Alex quietly replied, amazed to find himself actually snuggling against Fox Mulder, of all people.

"Kind of unbelievable, isn't it," Mulder said.

"Yeah."

"I'm glad, though. I'm glad you came here, Alex. I'm glad you didn't take no for answer, yesterday."

Alex closed his eyes, feeling Mulder's voice resonate against his body. He tightened his arm around Mulder's middle. "Me, too." He didn't trust himself to say anything more about it.

The television was dancing with fuzzy black and white spots and finally Mulder pointed the remote at it and turned it off. The fire had died but despite the cold of the room, they were warm against each other. The only light in the room was the lamp behind them.

"I'm not tired," Mulder announced, quietly.

Alex snickered against him. "Meaning?"

"Well, we've slept, we've talked, we've eaten, and we've screwed. What's left?"

Alex took a breath and sighed contentedly. "Who knows? Let's just - be."

Mulder didn't answer for while. Then Alex felt him take a breath, but he wasn't prepared for Mulder's words.

"I love you, Alex. I think I always did. That was the only reason I ever hated you, in fact. But I do."

And there it was. Stated out in the open. So simply and plainly. So clearly. So quietly. Alex forgot to breathe. He couldn't breathe at all. And then he was wondering what to say. He couldn't speak, because his throat had closed up. Probably because his heart had leapt up into it and was closing off his ability to say anything at all.

And then Mulder squeezed him, once. "It's okay. For the first time, it's really okay, isn't it?"

Alex swallowed. He managed to say, "Yeah. It is."

"Actually, I want to thank you for last night, too. You really helped me out there. I was able to sleep again, afterward. I can't usually fall asleep after a nightmare. I spend the rest of the night sitting up and trying like hell to not fall sleep. But last night, that was a first as well."

Alex frowned. "I'm good, Mulder, but I'm not that good. I'm not sure I can take away the pain and the trauma."

Mulder squeezed him again. "You don't have to. But you are going to sleep with me from now on."

Alex grinned. "Just try to kick me out, and see what happens."

Mulder considered this. "What would you do?"

In a lazy, relaxed tone, Alex replied, "I have a pair of cuffs with your name on them, and I'm not afraid to use them on you."

"Kinky. I knew it, you really are a sadist."

"And you're getting hard just thinking about it. Pervert. We could always drive into town and find that lonely, horny constable. Ask him if he minds lending us his jail cell for the night."

"Stop it. You're doing this deliberately. Let me get my breath back first, before we try for another round," Mulder admonished him.

"You realize we can't leave here until we've fucked in every room in the house?"

"Of course."

"Bedroom, kitchen... That leaves the bathroom, the pantry and the laundry room."

"And the shower. That can count as one, too," Mulder pointed out.

"Okay, sure."

"We could do that one next."

Alex snickered silently, hearing the hope and the grin in Mulder's voice. "Nympho."

"Seducer," Mulder shot back.

"We could ask the sheriff to record the whole incident for us to take back with us the next morning," Alex mused, aloud.

"Alex, I'm impressed," Mulder said. "That is a truly kinky thought. I didn't know you had it in you."

Alex snorted derisively. "You think that's kinky? Jesus, Mulder - I can see I have my work cut out for me. We're going to have to expand your mind, I think. Still open to extreme possibilities?"

"Considering that I never would have thought that a plate of fish and a bowl of butter would turn me on, I guess, yeah."

Alex found himself growing warm just from the conversation. He had just blasted his brains out along with his come into Mulder's ass not fifteen minutes before and he was already feeling familiar, heavy warmth settling in his groin. And the fact that it was Mulder he was resting on... Alex felt a wave of disorientation rock him and he closed his eyes, tightening his hold on Mulder, momentarily.

Mulder felt it, turned his head and kissed Alex on the forehead. Then he sighed and rested his cheek against the top of Alex's head, against his hair, and breathed deeply.

"If you leave me now, I will find you," Mulder said, quietly.

A twinge of pain at the mere mention of it, the mere thought of it, went through him. Alex wondered if Mulder was warning him. And then it occurred to him that Mulder was actually admitting that he wanted him to stay. At all costs. He smiled and then decided to just say it before he got cold feet. "I can't. I love you, too."

There. That was easy. That wasn't very hard at all. And Mulder just said, "Good," and kissed him on the head again.

It was simple and yet still terrifying. How could he possibly give this up now? How could Mulder ever think that he'd -

Betray him again.

Alex closed his eyes against the sharp pain of remembrance. Still, at least they had this, here and now.

"I know," Mulder murmured, answering him.

Mulder knew and was letting him know it. Mulder trusted him. Mulder believed him.

Alex didn't have to reply, so he was quiet. But for whatever reason, out of his own needs or not, Mulder believed him and it was enough.

And for the first time in years, long years since his childhood, Alex felt the fear, the doubt, and the inner dread lift from him, releasing his heart and floating away.

It really was a miracle, he realized. And he remembered that it was still Christmas.

He smiled. "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

*

Archived: January 11, 2002 


End file.
